THE  CHILDREN  IN  THE  CHURCHYARD. 


DEACON    PITKIN'S   FARM, 

AND 

"THE    FIRST   CHRISTMAS  OF   NEW  ENGLAND. 


. 

BY  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


NEW   YORK: 
J.    B.    FORD    &    COMPANY 

1876. 


X 


COPYRIGHT,  1875. 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 


"When  He  ascended  up  on  high,  He  led  captivity  captive,  and  GAVE   GIFTS 
unto  men." — EPH.  iv.  8. 

Some  say  that  ever,  'gainst  that  season  comes 

Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrate, 

The  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long. 

And  then,  they  say,    no  evil  spirit  walks  ; 

The  nights  are  wholesome  ;  then  no  planets  strike, 

No  fairy  takes,  no  witch  hath  power  to  charm, — 

So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time. 

AND  this  holy  time,  so  hallowed  and  so  gracious, 
was  settling  down  over  the  great  roaring,  rattling, 
seething  life-world  of  New  York  in  the  good  year  1875. 
Who  does  not  feel  its  on-coming  in  the  shops  and 
streets,  in  the  festive  air  of  trade  and  business,  in  the 
thousand  garnitures  by  which  every  store  hangs  out 
triumphal  banners  and  solicits  you  to  buy  something 
for  a  Christmas  gift?  For  it  is  the  peculiarity  of  all 
this  array  of  prints,  confectionery,  dry  goods,  and  manu 
factures  of  all  kinds,  that  their  bravery  and  splendor  at 
Christmas  tide  is  all  to  seduce  you  into  generosity,  and 
importune  you  to  give  something  to  others.  It  says 
to  you,  "  The  dear  God  gave  you  an  unspeakable  gift ; 
give  you  a  lesser  gift  to  your  brother!" 

Do  we  ever  think,  when  we  walk  those  busy,  bust 
ling    streets,    all   alive   with   Christmas    shoppers,    and 


M130913 


6  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

mingle  with  the  rushing  tides  that  throng  and  jostle 
through  the  stores,  that  unseen  spirits  may  be  hasten 
ing  to  and  fro  along  those  same  ways  bearing  Christ's 
Christmas  gifts  to  men — gifts  whose  value  no  earthly 
gold  or  gems  can  represent  ? 

Yet,  on  this  morning  of  the  day  before  Christmas, 
were  these  Shining  Ones,  moving  to  and  fro  with  the 
crowd,  whose  faces  were  loving  and  serene  as  the  in 
visible  stars,  whose  robes  took  no  defilement  from  the 
spatter  and  the  rush  of  earth,  whose  coming  and  going 
was  still  as  the  falling  snow-flakes.  They  entered 
houses  without  ringing  door-bells,  they  passed  through 
apartments  without  opening  doors,  and  everywhere  they 
were  bearing  Christ's  Christmas  presents,  and  silently 
offering  them  to  whoever  would  open  their  souls  to 
receive.  Like  themselves,  their  gifts  were  invisible — 
incapable  of  weight  and  measurement  in  gross  earthly 
scales.  To  mourners  they  carried  joy ;  to  weary  and 
perplexed  hearts,  peace ;  to  souls  stifling  in  luxury  and 
self-indulgence  they  carried  that  noble  discontent  that 
rises  to  aspiration  for  higher  things.  Sometimes  they 
took  away  an  earthly  treasure  to  make  room  for  a 
heavenly  one.  They  took  health,  but  left  resignation 
and  cheerful  faith.  They  took  the  babe  from  the  dear 
cradle,  but  left  in  its  place  a  heart  full  of  pity  for 
the  suffering  on  earth  and  a  fellowship  with  the  blessed 
in  heaven.  Let  us  follow  their  footsteps  awhile. 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 


SCENE      I. 

A  YOUNG  girl's  boudoir  in  one  of  our  American 
palaces  of  luxury,  built  after  the  choicest  fancy  of  the 
architect,  and  furnished  in  all  the  latest  devices  of 
household  decoration.  Pictures,  statuettes,  and  every 
form  of  bijouterie  make  the  room  a  miracle  of  beauty, 
and  the  little  princess  of  all  sits  in  an  easy  chair 
before  the  fire,  and  thus  revolves  with  herself : 

"  O,  dear  me !  Christmas  is  a  bore !  Such  a  rush 
and  crush  in  the  streets,  such  a  jam  in  the  shops,  and 
then  such  a  fuss  thinking  up  presents  for  everybody !  All 
for  nothing,  too;  for  nobody  wants  anything.  I'm  sure 
/  don't.  I'm  surfeited  now  with  pictures  and  jewelry, 
and  bon-bon  boxes,  and  little  china  dogs  and  cats— 
and  all  these  things  that  get  so  thick  you  can't  move 
without  upsetting  some  of  them.  There's  papa,  he 
don't  want  anything.  He  never  uses  any  of  my 
Christmas  presents  when  I  get  them ;  and  mamma, 
she  has  every  earthly  thing  I  can  think  of,  and  said 
the  other  day  she  did  hope  nobody  'd  give  her  any 
more  worsted  work !  Then  Aunt  Maria  and  Uncle 
John,  they  don't  want  the  things  I  give  them;  they 
have  more  than  they  know  what  to  do  with,  now.  All 
the  boys  say  they  don't  want  any  more  cigar  cases  or 
slippers,  or  smoking  caps.  Oh,  dear!" 

Here  the  Shining  Ones  came  and  stood  over  the 
little  lady,  and  looked  down  on  her  with  faces  of  pity, 


8  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

which  seemed  blent  with  a  serene  and  half-amused 
indulgence.  It  was  a  heavenly  amusement,  such  as 
that  with  which  mothers  listen  to  the  foolish-wise 
prattle  of  children  just  learning  to  talk. 

As  the  grave,  sweet  eyes  rested  tenderly  on  her,  the 
girl  somehow  grew  graver,  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
and  sighed  a  little. 

"I  wish  I  knew  how  to  be  better!"  she  said  to 
herself.  "I  remember  last  Sunday's  text,  'It  is  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.'  That  must  mean 
something !  Well,  isn't  there  something,  too,  in  the 
Bible  about  not  giving  to  your  rich  neighbors  that 
can  give  again,  but  giving  to  the  poor  that  can 
not  recompense  you?  I  don't  know  any  poor  people. 
Papa  says  there  are  very  few  deserving  poor  people. 
Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,  there  aren't  many  deserving 
rich  people.  I,  for  example,  how  much  do  I  deserve 
to  have  all  these  nice  things?  I'm  no  better  than  the 
poor  shop-girls  that  go  trudging  by  in  the  cold  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning — ugh  !  it  makes  me  shiver  to 
think  of  it.  I  know  if  I  had  to  do  that  /  shouldn't 
be  good  at  all.  Well,  I'd  like  to  give  to  poor  people, 
if  I  knew  any." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  and  the  maid 
entered. 

"  Betty,  do  you  know  any  poor  people  I  ought  to 
get  things  for,  this  Christmas?" 

"  Poor  folks  is  always  plenty,  miss,"  said  Betty. 

"  O  yes,  of  course,  beggars ;  but  I  mean  people  that 
I  could  do  something  for  besides  just  give  cold  vict 
uals  or  money.  I  don't  know  where  to  hunt  them 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  9 

up,  and  should  be  afraid  to  go  if  I  did.  O  dear !  it's 
no  use.  I'll  give  it  up.". 

"Why,  Miss  Florence,  that  'ud  be  too  bad,  afther 
bein'  that  good  in  yer  heart,  to  let  the  poor  folks 
alone  for  fear  of  goin'  to  them.  But  ye  needn't  do 
that,  for,  now  I  think  of  it,  there's  John  Morley's  wife." 

"What,  the  gardener  father  turned  off  for  drinking?" 

"The  same,  miss.  Poor  boy,  he's  not  so  bad,  and 
he's  got  a  wife  and  two  as  pretty  children  as  ever  you 
see." 

"  I  always  liked  John,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  But 
papa  is  so  strict  about  some  things !  He  says  he  never 
will  keep  a  man  a  day  if  he  finds  out  that  he  drinks." 

She  was  quite  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  broke 
out : 

"I  don't  care;  it's  a  good  idea!  I  say,  Betty,  do 
you  know  where  John's  wife  lives?" 

"Yes,  miss,  I've  been  there  often." 

"Well,  then,  this  afternoon  I'll  go  with  you  and  see 
if  I  can  do  anything  for  them." 


SCENE    II. 


AN  attic  room,  neat  and  clean,  but  poorly  furnished ; 
a  bed  and  a  trundle-bed,  a  small  cooking-stove,  a  shelf 
with  a  few  dishes,  one  or  two  chairs  and  stools,  a  pale, 
thin  woman  working  on  a  vest. 


10  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

Her  face  is  anxious;  her  thin  hands  tremble  with 
weakness,  and  now  and  then,  as  she  works,  quiet  tears 
drop,  which  she  wipes  quickly.  Poor  people  cannot 
afford  to  shed  tears;  it  takes  time  and  injures  eye 
sight. 

This  is  John  Morley's  wife.  This  morning  he  has 
risen  and  gone  out  in  a  desperate  mood.  "  No  use  to 
try,"  he  says.  "Didn't  I  go  a  whole  year  and  never 
touch  a  drop?  And  now  just  because  I  fell  once 
I'm  kicked  out !  No  use  to  try.  When  a  fellow  once 
trips,  everybody  gives  him  a  kick.  Talk  about  love 
of  Christ '  Who  believes  it  ?  Don't  see  much  love  of 
Christ  where  I  go.  Your  Christians  hit  a  fellow  that's 
down  as  hard  as  anybody.  It's  everybody  for  himself 
and  devil  take  the  hindmost.  Well,  I'll  trudge  up  to 
the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard  and  see  if  they'll  take  me 
on  there — if  they  won't  I  might  as  well  go  to  sea,  or 
to  the  devil,"  and  out  he  flings. 

"Mamma!"  says  a  little  voice,  "what  are  we  going 
to  have  for  our  Christmas?" 

It  is  a  little  girl,  with  soft  curly  hair  and  bright, 
earnest  eyes,  that  speaks. 

A  sturdy  little  fellow  of  four  presses  up  to  the  mother's 
knee  and  repeats  the  question,  "Sha'n't  we  have  a 
Christmas,  mother?" 

It  overcomes  the  poor  woman ;  she  Jeans  forward 
and  breaks  into  sobbing, — a  tempest  of  sorrow,  long 
suppressed,  that  shakes  her  weak  frame  as  she  thinks 
that  her  husband  is  out  of  work,  desperate,  discour 
aged,  and  tempted  of  the  devil,  that  the  rent  is  falling 
due,  and  only  the  poor  pay  of  her  needle  to  meet  it 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  IX 

with.  In  one  of  those  quick  flashes  which  concentrate 
through  the  imagination  the  sorrows  of  years,  she  seems 
to  see  her  little  home  broken  up,  her  husband  in  the 
gutter,  her  children  turned  into  the  street.  At  this 
moment  there  goes  up  from  her  heart  a  despairing 
cry,  such  as  a  poor,  hunted,  tired-out  creature  gives 
when  brought  to  the  last  gasp  of  endurance.  It  was 
like  the  shriek  of  the  hare  when  the  hounds  are  upon 
it.  She  clasps  her  hands  and  cries  out,  "  O  my 
God,  help  me." 

There  was  no  voice  of  any  that  answered ;  there 
was  no  sound  of  foot-fall  on  the  staircase ;  no  one  en 
tered  the  door ;  and  yet  that  agonized  cry  had  reached 
the  heart  it  was  meant  for.  The  Shining  Ones  were 
with  her;  they  stood,  with  faces  full  of  tenderness, 
beaming  down  upon  her ;  they  brought  her  a  Christmas 
gift  from  Christ — the  gift  of  trust.  She  knew  not  from 
whence  came  the  courage  and  rest  that  entered  her 
soul;  but  while  her  little  ones  stood  wondering  and 
silent,  she  turned  and  drew  to  herself  her  well-worn 
Bible.  Hands  that  she  did  not  see  guided  her  as  she 
turned  the  pages,  and  pointed  the  words:  He  shall 
deliver  the  needy  when  he  crieth ;  the  poor  also  and  him 
that  hath  no  helper.  He  shall  spare  the  poor  and  needy, 
and  shall  save  the  souls  of  the  needy.  He  shall  redeem 
their  soul  from  deceit  and  violence,  and  precious  shall 
their  blood  be  in  his  sight. 

She  laid  down  her  poor  wan  cheek  on  the  merciful 
old  book,  as  on  her  mother's  breast,  and  gave  up  all 
the  tangled  skein  of  life  into  the  hands  of  Infinite 
Pity.  There  seemed  a  consoling  presence  in  the  room, 
and  her  tired  heart  found  rest. 


12  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

She  wiped  away  her  tears,  kissed  her  children,  and 
smiled  upon  them.  Then  she  rose,  gathered  up  her 
finished  work,  and  attired  herself  to  go  forth  and  carry 
it  back  to  the  shop. 

"Mother,"  said  the  children  softly,  "they  are  dressing 
the  church,  and  the  gates  are  open,  and  people  are  going 
in  and  out;  mayn't  we  play  there  by  the  church?" 

The  mother  looked  out  on  the  ivy-grown  walls  of 
the  church,  with  its  flocks  of  twittering  sparrows,  and 
said: 

"Yes,  my  little  birds;  you  may  play  there  if  you'll 
be  very  good  and  quiet." 

The  mother  had  only  her  small,  close  attic  room  for 
her  darlings,  and  to  satisfy  all  their  childish  desire  for 
variety  and  motion,  she  had  only  the  refuge  of  the 
streets.  She  was  a  decent,  godly  woman,  and  the  bold 
manners  and  evil  words  of  street  vagrants  were  terrible 
to  her;  and  so,  when  the  church  gates  were  open  for 
daily  morning  and  evening  prayers,  she  had  often 
begged  the  sexton  to  let  her  little  ones  come  in  and 
hear  the  singing,  and  wander  hand  in  hand  around  the 
old  church  walls.  He  was  a  kindly  old  man,  and  the 
children,  stealing  round  like  two  still,  bright-eyed  little 
mice,  had  gained  upon  his  heart,  and  he  made  them 
welcome  there.  It  gave  the  mother  a  feeling  of  pro 
tection  to  have  them  play  near  the  church,  as  if  it 
were  a  father's  house. 

So  she  put  on  their  little  hoods  and  tippets,  and 
led  them  forth,  and  saw  them  into  the  yard  ;  and  as 
she  looked  to  the  old  gray  church,  with  its  rustling  ivy 
bowers  and  flocks  of  birds,  her  heart  swelled  within 


• 
BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 


her.  "Yea,  the  sparrow  hath  found  a  house  and  the 
swallow  a  nest  where  she  may  lay  her  young,  even 
thine  altars,  O  Lord  of  hosts,  my  king  and  my  God!" 
And  the  Shining  Ones  walking  with  her  said,  "  Fear 
not;  ye  are  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows." 


SCENE     III. 


THE  little  ones  went  gayly  into  the  yard.  They 
had  been  scared  by  their  mother's  tears;  but  she  had 
smiled  again,  and  that  had  made  all  right  with  them. 
The  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  they 'were  on  the 
sunny  side  of  the  old  church,  and  they  laughed  and 
chirped  and  chittered  to  each  other  as  merrily  as  the 
little  birds  in  the  ivy  boughs. 

The  old  sexton  came'  to  the  side  door  and  threw 
out  an  armful  of  refuse  greens,  and  then  stopped  a 
moment  and  nodded  kindly  at  them. 

"May  we  play  with  them,  please,  sir?"  said  the  little 
Elsie,  looking  up  with  great  reverence. 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure ;  these  are  done  with — they  are 
no  good  now." 

"Oh,  Tottie!"  cried  Elsie,  rapturously,  "just  think, 
he  says  we  may  play  with  all  these.  Why,  here's  ever 
and  ever  so  much  green,  enough  to  play  house.  Let's 
play  build  a  house  for  father  and  mother." 


14  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

"  I'm  going  to  build  a  big  house  for  'em  when  I 
grow  up,"  said  Tottie,  "  and  I  mean  to  have  glass 
bead  windows  in  it." 

Tottie  had  once  had  presented  to  him  a  box  of 
colored  glass  beads  to  string,  and  he  could  think  of 
nothing  finer  in  the  future  than  unlimited  glass  beads. 

Meanwhile,  his  sister  began  planting  pine  branches 
upright  in  the  snow,  to  make  her  house. 

"You  see  we  can  make  believe  there  are  windows 
and  doors  and  a  roof,"  she  said,  "and  it's  just  as  good. 
Now,  let's  make  believe  there  is  a  bed  in  this  corner, 
and  we  will  lie  down  to  sleep." 

And  Tottie  obediently  couched  himself  in  the  allotted 
corner  and  shut  his  eyes  very  hard,  though  after  a 
moment  he  remarked  that  the  snow  got  into  his  neck. 

"  You  must  play  it  isn't  snow — play  it's  feathers," 
said  Elsie. 

"But  I  don't  like  it,"  persisted  Tottie,  "it  don't 
feel  a  bit  like  feathers." 

"  Oh,  well,  then,"  said  Elsie,  accommodating  herself 
to  circumstances,  "let's  play  "get  up  now  and  I'll  get 
breakfast." 

Just  now  the  door  opened  again,  and  the  sexton 
began  sweeping  the  refuse  out  of  the  church.  There 
were  bits  of  ivy  and  holly,  and  ruffles  of  ground-pine, 
and  lots  of  bright  red  berries  that  came  flying  forth 
into  the  yard,  and  the  children  screamed  for  joy.  "  O 
Tottie!"  "O  Elsie!"  "Only  see  how  many  pretty 
things — lots  and  lots!" 

The  sexton  stood  and  looked  and  laughed  as  he  saw 
the  little  ones  so  eager  for  the  scraps  and  remnants. 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA,  15 

"Don't  you  want  to  come  in  and  see  the  church?" 
he  said.  "It's  all  done  now,  and  a  brave  sight  it  is. 
You  may  come  in." 

They  tipped  in  softly,  with  large  bright,  wondering 
eyes.  The  light  through  the  stained  glass  windows 
fell  blue  and  crimson  and  yellow  on  the  pillars  all 
ruffled  with  ground-pine  and  brightened  with  scarlet 
bitter-sweet  berries,  and  there  were  stars  and  crosses 
and  mottoes  in  green  all  through  the  bowery  aisles,  while 
the  organist,  hid  in  a  thicket  of  verdure,  was  practicing 
softly,  and  sweet  voices  sung: 

"  Hark  !    the  herald  angels  sing 
Glory  to  the  new-born  King." 

The  little  ones  wandered  up  and  down  the  long 
aisles  in  a  dream  of  awe  and  wonder.  "  Hush,  Tottie !" 
said  Elsie  when  he  broke  into  an  eager  exclamation, 
"  don't  make  a  noise.  I  do  believe  it's  something  like 
heaven,"  she  said,  under  her  breath. 

They  made  the  course  of  the  church  and  came 
round  by  the  door  again,  where  the  sexton  stood  smiling 
on  them. 

"You  can  find  lots  of  pretty  Christmas  greens  out 
there,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  door ;  "  perhaps  your 
folks  would  like  to  have  some." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir,"  exclaimed  Elsie,  rapturously. 
"Oh,  Tottie,  only  think!  Let's  gather  a  good  lot  and 
go  home  and  dress  our  room  for  Christmas.  Oh,  wont 
mother  be  astonished  when  she  comes  home,  we'll  make 
it  so  pretty!" 

And  forthwith  the  children  began  gathering  into  their 
little  aprons  wreaths  of  ground-pine,  sprigs  of  holly, 


1 6  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

and  twigs  of  crimson  bitter-sweet.  The  sexton,  seeing 
their  zeal,  brought  out  to  them  a  little  cross,  fancifully 
made  of  red  alder-berries  and  pine. 

Then  he  said,  "  A  lady  took  that  down  to  put  up  a 
bigger  one,  and  she  gave  it  to  me;  you  may  have  it 
if  you  want  it." 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful,"  said  Elsie.  "  How  glad  I  am 
to  have  this  for  mother  !  When  she  comes  back  she 
won't  know  our  room  ;  it  will  be  as  fine  as  the  church." 

Soon  the  little  gleaners  were  toddling  off  out  of  the 
yard — moving  masses  of  green  with  all  that  their  aprons 
and  their  little  hands  could  carry. 

The  sexton  looked  after  them.  "  Take  heed  that  ye 
despise  not  these  little  ones,"  he  said  to  himself,  "for 
in  heaven  their  angels  — " 

A  ray  of  tenderness  fell  on  the  old  man's  head ;  it 
was  from  the  Shining  One  who  watched  the  children. 
He  thought  it  was  an  afternoon  sunbeam.  His  heart 
grew  gentle  and  peaceful,  and  his  thoughts  went  far 
back  to  a  distant  green  grove  where  his  own  little  one 
was  sleeping.  "Seems  to  me  I've  loved  all  little  ones 
ever  since,"  he  said,  thinking  far  back  to  the  Christ 
mas  week  when  his  lamb  was  laid  to  rest.  "  Well,,  she 
shall  not  return  to  me,  but  I  shall  go  to  her."  The 
smile  of  the  Shining  One  made  a  warm  glow  in  his 
heart,  which  followed  him  all  the  way  home. 

The  children  had  a  merry  time  dressing  the  room. 
They  stuck  good  big  bushes  of  pine  in  each  window; 
they  put  a  little  ruffle  of  ground-pine  round  mother's 
Bible,  and  they  fastened  the  beautiful  red  cross  up 
over  the  table,  and  they  stuck  sprigs  of  pine  or  holly 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  17 

into  every  crack  that  could  be  made,  by  fair  means  or 
foul,  to  accept  it,  and  they  were  immensely  satisfied 
and  delighted.  Tottie  insisted  on  hanging  up  his  string 
of  many-colored  beads  in  the  window  to  imitate  the 
effect  of  the  stained  glass  of  the  great  church  window. 
"It  looks  pretty  when  the  light  comes  through,"  he 
remarked;  and  Elsie  admitted  that  they  might  play 
they  were  painted  windows,  with  some  show  of  pro 
priety.  When  everything  had  been  stuck  somewhere, 
Elsie  swept  the  floor,  and  made  up  a  fire,  and  put  on 
the  tea-kettle,  to  have  everything  ready  to  strike  mother 
favorably  on  her  return. 


SCENE    IV. 

A  FREEZING,  bright,  cold  afternoon.  "  Cold  as 
Christmas!"  say  cheery  voices,  as  the  crowds  rush  to 
and  fro  into  shops  and  stores,  and  come  out  with 
hands  full  of  presents. 

"Yes,   cpld  as   Christmas,"    says   John  Morley. 
should  think  so !     Cold  enough  for  a  fellow  that  can't 
get  in  anywhere— that  nobody  wants  and  nobody  helps ! 
I  should  think  so." 

John  had  been  trudging  all  day  from  point  to  point, 
only  to  hear  the  old  story:  times  were  hard,  work 


1 8  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

was  dull,  nobody  wanted  him,  and  he  felt  morose  and 
surly — out  of  humor  with  himself  and  with  everybody 
else. 

It  is  true  that  his  misfortunes  were  from  his  own 
fault;  but  that  consideration  never  makes  a  man  a 
particle  more  patient  or  good-natured — indeed,  it  is 
an  additional  bitterness  in  his  cup.  John  was  an 
Englishman.  When  he  first  landed  in  New  York  from 
the  old  country,  he  had  been  wild  and  dissipated  and 
given  to  drinking.  But  by  his  wife's  earnest  entreaties 
he  had  been  persuaded  to  sign  the  temperance  pledge, 
and  had  gone  on  prosperously  keeping  it  for  a  year. 
He  had  a  good  place  and  good  wages,  and  all  went 
well  with  him  till  in  an  evil  hour  he  met  some  of  his 
former  boon-companions,  and  was  induced  to  have  a 
social  evening  with  them. 

In  the  first  half  hour  of  that  evening  were  lost  the 
fruits  of  the  whole  year's  self-denial  and  self-control. 
He  was  not  only  drunk  that  night,  but  he  went  off 
for  a  fortnight,  and  was  drunk  night  after  night,  and 
came  back  to  find  that  his  master  had  discharged 
him  in  indignation.  John  thinks  this  over  bitterly, 
as  he  thuds  about  in  the  cold  and  calls  himself  a 
fool. 

Yet,  if  the  truth  must  be  confessed,  John  had  not 
much  "sense  of  sin,"  so  called.  He  looked  on  him 
self  as  an  unfortunate  and  rather  ill-used  man,  for  had 
he  not  tried  very  hard  to  be  good,  and  gone  a  great 
while  against  the  stream  of  evil  inclination?  and  now, 
just  for  one  yielding,  he  was  pitched  out  of  place,  and 
everybody  was  turned  against  him !  He  thought  this 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  lg 

was  hard  measure.  Didn't  everybody  hit  wrong  some 
times?  Didn't  rich  fellows  have  their  wine,  and  drink 
a  little  too  much  now  and  then?  Yet  nobody  was 
down  on  them. 

"  It's  only  because  I'm  poor,"  said  John.  "  Poor 
folks'  sins  are  never  pardoned.  There's  my  good  wife 
— poor  girl!"  and  John's  heart  felt  as  if  it  were  break 
ing,  for  he  was  an  affectionate  creature,  and  loved 
his  wife  and  babies,  and  in  his  deepest  consciousness 
he  knew  that  he  was  the  one  at  fault.  We  have  heard 
much  about  the  sufferings  of  the  wives  and  children 
of  men  who  are  overtaken  with  drink ;  but  what  is  not 
so  well  understood  is  the  sufferings  of  the  men  them 
selves  in  their  sober  moments,  when  they  feel  that 
they  are  becoming  a  curse  to  all  that  are  dearest  to 
them.  John's  very  soul  was  wrung  within  him  to 
think  of  the  misery  he  had  brought  on  his  wife  and 
children — the  greater  miseries  that  might  be  in  store 
for  them.  He  was  faint  of  heart;  he  was  tired;  he 
had  eaten  nothing  for  hours,  and  on  ahead  he  saw  a 
drinking  saloon.  Why  shouldn't  he  go  and  take  one 
good  drink,  and  then  pitch  off  a  ferry-boat  into  the 
East  River,  and  so  end  the  whole  miserable  muddle 
of  life  altogether? 

John's  steps  were  turning  that  way,  when  one  of 
the  Shining  Ones,  who  had  watched  him  all  day, 
came  nearer  and  took  his  hand.  He  felt  no  touch ; 
but  at  that  moment  there  darted  into  his  soul  a  thought 
of  his  mother,  long  dead,  and  he  stopped  irresolute, 
then  turned  to  walk  another  way.  The  hand  that  was 
guiding  him  led  him  to  turn  a  corner,  and  his  curios- 


20  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

ity  was  excited  by  a  stream  of  people  who  seemed  to 
be  pressing  into  a  building.  A  distant  sound  of  sing 
ing  was  heard  as  he  drew  nearer,  and  soon  he  found 
himself  passing  with  the  multitude  into  a  great  prayer- 
meeting.  The  music  grew  more  distinct  as  he  went 
in.  A  man  was  singing  in  clear,  penetrating  tones  : 

* '  What  means  this  eager,  anxious  throng, 
Which  moves  with  busy  haste  along  ; 
These  wondrous  gatherings  day  by  day  ; 
What  means  this  strange  commotion,  say? 
In  accents  hushed  the  throng  reply, 
1  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by  !'  " 

John  had  but  a  vague  idea  of  religion,  yet  something 
in  the  singing  affected  him;  and,  weary  and  footsore 
and  heartsore  as  he  was,  he  sank  into  a  seat  and  lis 
tened  with  absorbed  attention : 

u  Jesus  !  'tis  he  who  once  below 

Man's  pathway  trod  in  toil  and  woe  ; 
And  burdened  ones  where'er  he  came 
Brought  out  their  sick  and  deaf  and  lame. 
The  blind  rejoiced  to  hear  the  cry, 
'  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by  !' 

"  Ho,  all  ye  heavy-laden,  come  ! 

Here's  pardon,  comfort,  rest,  and  home. 
Ye  wanderers  from  a  Father's  face, 
Return,  accept  his  proffered  grace. 
Ye  tempted  ones,  there's  refuge  nigh — 
*  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by  !'  " 

A  plain  man,  who  spoke  the  language  of  plain 
working-men,  now  arose  and  read  from  his  Bible  the 
words  which  the  angel  of  old  spoke  to  the  shepherds 
of  Bethlehem : 

"Fear  not,  for  behold,  */  bring  you   tidings  of  great 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  21 

joy,  which  shall  be  to  all  people,  for  unto  you  is  born  this 
day  a  Saviour,  which  is  Christ  the  JLord." 

The  man  went  on  to  speak  of  this  with  an  intense 
practical  earnestness  that  soon  made  John  feel  as  if 
he,  individually,  were  being  talked  to;  and  the  purport 
of  the  speech  was  this:  that  God  had  sent  to  him, 
John  Morley,  a  Saviour  to  save  him  from  his  sins,  to 
lift  him  above  his  weakness,  to  help  him  overcome 
his  bad  habits ;  that  His  name  was  called  Jesus,  be 
cause  he  shall  save  his  people  from  their  sins.  John 
listened  with  a  strange  new  thrill.  This  was  what  he 
needed — a.  Friend,  all-powerful,  all-pitiful,  who  would 
undertake  for  him  and  help  him  to  overcome  himself 
— for  he  sorely  felt  how  weak  he  was.  Here  was  a 
Friend  that  could  have  compassion  on  the  ignorant 
and  them  that  were  out  of  the  way.  The  thought 
brought  tears  to  his  eyes  and  a  glow  of  hope  to  his 
heart.  What  if  He  would  help  him?  for  deep  down 
in  John's  heart,  worse  than  cold  or  hunger  or  weari 
ness,  was  the  dreadful  conviction  that  he  was  a  doomed 
man,  that  he  should  drink  again  as  he  had  drunk,  and 
never  come  to  good,  but  fall  lower  and  lower,  and 
drag  all  who  loved  him  down  with  him. 

And  was  this  mighty  Saviour  given  to  him  ? 

"Yes,"  cried  the  man  who  was  speaking;  "to  you; 
to  you,  who  have  lost  name  and  place;  to  you,  that 
nobody  cares  for;  to  you,  who  have  been  down  in  the 
gutter.  God  has  sent  you  a  Saviour  to  take  you  up 
out  of  the  mud  and  mire,  to  wash  you  clean,  to  give 
you  strength  to  overcome  your  sins,  and  lead  you 
home  to  his  blessed  kingdom.  This  is  the  glad  tid- 


22  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

ings  of  great  joy  that  the  angels  brought  on  the 
first  Christmas  day.  CHRIST  was  God's  Christmas  gift 
to  a  poor,  lost  world,  and  you  may  have  him  now, 
to-day.  He  may  be  your  own  Saviour — yours  as 
much  as  if  there  were  no  other  one  on  earth  to  be 
saved.  He  is  looking  for  you  to-day,  coming  after 
you,  seeking  you;  he  calls  you  by  me.  Oh,  accept 
him  now !" 

There  was  a  deep  breathing  of  suppressed  emotion 
as  the  speaker  sat  down,  a  pause  of  solemn  stillness. 

A  faint  strain  of  music  was  heard,  and  the  singer 
began  singing  a  pathetic  ballad  of  a  lost  sheep  and  of 
the  Shepherd  going  forth  to  seek  it: 

"  There  were  ninety  and  nine  that  safely  lay 

In  the  shelter  of  the  fold, 
But  one  was  out  on  the  hills  away, 

Far  off  from  the  gates  of  gold — 
Away  on  the  mountains  wild  and  bare, 
Away  from  the  tender  Shepherd's  care. 

"  '  Lord,  Thou  hast  here  Thy  ninety  and  nine  ; 

Are  they  not  enough  for  Thee  ?' 
But  the  Shepherd  made  answer :   '  'Tis  of  mine 

Has  wandered  away  from  me  ; 
And  although  the  road  be  rough  and  steep 
I  go  to  the  desert  to  find  my  sheep.'  " 

John  heard  with  an  absorbed  interest.  All  around 
him  were  eager  listeners,  breathless,  leaning  forward 
with  intense  attention.  The  song  went  on: 

"  But  none  of  the  ransomed  ever  knew 

How  deep  were  the  waters  crossed  ; 
Nor  how  dark  was  the  night  that  the  Lord  went  through 

Ere  He  found  His  sheep  that  was  lost. 
Out  in  the  desert  He  heard  its  cry — 
Sick  and  helpless,  and  ready' to  die." 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  23 

There  was  a  throbbing  pathos  in  the  intonation,  and 
the  verse  floated  over  the  weeping  throng;  when,  after 
a  pause,  the  strain  was  taken  up  triumphantly : 

"  But  all  through  the  mountains  thunder-riven, 

And  up  from  the  rocky  steep, 
There  rose  a  cry  to  the  gates  of  heaven, 
'  Rejoice  !  I  have  found  my  sheep  !' 
And  the  angels  echoed  around  the  throne, 
'  Reioice,  for  the  Lord  brings  back  His  own  !' " 

All  day  long,  poor  John  had  felt  so  lonesome! 
Nobody  cared  for  him;  nobody  wanted  him;  every 
thing  was  against  him;  and,  worst  of  all,  he  had  no 
faith  in  himself.  But  here  was  this  Friend,  seeking 
him,  following  him  through  the  cold  alleys  and  crowded 
streets.  In  heaven  they  would  be  glad  to  hear  that 
he  had  become  a  good  man.  The  thought  broke 
down  all  his  pride,  all  his  bitterness;  he  wept  like  a 
little  child;  and  the  Christmas  gift  of  Christ — the 
sense  of  a  real,  present,  loving,  pitying  Saviour — came, 
into  his  very  soul. 

He  went  homeward  as  one  in  a  dream.  He  passed 
the  drinking-saloon  without  a  thought  or  wish  of 
drinking.  The  expulsive  force  of  a  new  emotion  had 
for  the  time  driven  out  all  temptation.  Raised  above 
weakness,  he  thought  only  of  this  Jesus,  this  Saviour 
from  sin,  who  he  now  believed  had  followed  him  and 
foun,d  him,  and  he  longed  to  go  home  and  tell  his 
wife  what  great  things  the  Lord  had  done  for  him. 


24  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 


SCENE   V. 


MEANWHILE  a  little  drama  had  been  acting  in  John's 
humble  home.  His  wife  had  been  to  the  shop  that 
day  and  come  home  with  the  pittance  for  her  work 
in  her  hands. 

"  I'll  pay  you  full  price  to-day,  but  we  can't  pay 
such  prices  any  longer,"  the  man  had  said  over  the 
counter  as  he  paid  her.  "  Hard  times— work  dull— we 
are  cutting  down  all  our  work-folks;  you'll  have  to 
take  a  third  less  next  time." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  she  said  meekly,  as  she  took  her 
bundle  of  work  and  turned  wearily  away,  but  the  in 
visible  arm  of  the  Shining  One  was  round  her,  and 
the  words  again  thrilled  through  her  that  she  had  read 
that  morning :  "  He  shall  redeem  their  soul  from  de 
ceit  and  violence,  and  precious  shall  their  blood  be  in 
his  sight."  She  saw  no  earthly  helper;  she  heard  none 
and  felt  none,  and  yet  her  soul  was  sustained,  and  she 
came  home  in  peace. 

When  she  opened  the  door  of  her  little  room  she 
drew  back  astonished  at  the  sight  that  presented  itself. 
A  brisk  fire  was  roaring  in  the  stove,  and  the  tea-kettle 
was  sputtering  and  sending  out  clouds  of  steam.  A 
table  with  a  white  cloth  on  it  was  drawn  out  before 
the  fire,  and  a  new  tea  set  of  pure  white  cups  and 
saucers,  with  teapot,  sugar-bowl,  and  creamer,  com 
plete,  gave  a  festive  air  to  the  whole.  There  were 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  25 

bread,  and  butter,  and  ham-sandwiches,  and  a  Christ 
mas  cake  all  frosted,  with  little  blue  and  red  and  green 
candles  round  it  ready  to  be  lighted,  and  a  bunch  of 
hot-house  flowers  in  a  pretty  little  vase  in  the  centre. 

A  new  stuffed  rocking-chair  stood  on  one  side  of 
the  stove,  and  there  sat  Miss  Florence  DeWitt,  our 
young  princess  of  Scene  First,  holding  little  Elsie  in 
her  lap,  while  the  broad,  honest  countenance  of  Betty 
was  beaming  with  kindness  down  on  the  delighted  face 
of  Tottie.  Both  children  were  dressed  from  head  to 
foot  in  complete  new  suits  of  clothes,  and  Elsie  was 
holding  with  tender  devotion  a  fine  doll,  while  Tottie 
rejoiced  in  a  horse  and  cart  which  he  was  maneuver 
ing  under  Betty's  superintendence. 

The  little  princess  had  pleased  herself  in  getting  up 
all  this  tableau.  Doing  good  was  a  novelty  to  her, 
and  she  plunged  into  it  with  the  zest  of  a  new  amuse 
ment.  The  amazed  look  of  the  poor  woman,  her  dazed 
expressions  of  rapture  and  incredulous  joy,  the  shrieks 
and  cries  of  confused  delight  with  which  the  little 
ones  met  their  mother,  delighted  her  more  than  any 
scene  she  had  ever  witnessed  at  the  opera — with  this 
added  grace,  unknown  to  her,  that  at  this  scene  the 
invisible  Shining  Ones  were  pleased  witnesses. 

She  had  been  out  with  Betty,  buying  here  and 
there  whatever  was  wanted, — and  what  was  not  wanted 
for  those  who  had  been  living  so  long  without  work 
or  money  ? 

She  had  their  little  coal-bin  filled,  and  a  nice  pile 
of  wood  and  kindlings  put  behind  the  stove.  She  had 
bought  a  nice  rocking-chair  for  the  mother  to  rest  in. 


26  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

She  had  dressed  the  children  from  head  to  foot  at  a 
ready-made  clothing  store,  and  bought  them  toys  to 
their  hearts'  desire,  while  Betty  had  set  the  table  for  a 
Christmas  feast. 

And  now  she  said  to  the  poor  woman  at  last : 

"I'm  so  sorry  John  lost  his  place  at  father's.  He 
was  so  kind  and  obliging,  and  I  always  liked  him ; 
and  I've  been  thinking,  if  you'd  get  him  to  sign 
the  pledge  over  again  from  Christmas  Eve,  never  to 
touch  another  drop,  I'll  get  papa  to  take  him  back. 
I  always  do  get  papa  to  do  what  I  want,  and  the  fact 
is,  he  hasn't  got  anybody  that  suited  him  so  well  since 
John  left.  So  you  tell  John  that  I  mean  to  go  surety 
for  him ;  he  certainly  won't  fail  me.  Tell  him  /  trust 
him."  And  Miss  Florence  pulled  out  a  paper  wherein, 
in  her  best  round  hand,  she  had  written  out  again  the 
temperance  pledge,  and  dated  it  "  Christmas  Eve,  1875." 

"  Now,  you  come  with  John  to-morrow  morning,  and 
bring  this  with  his  name  to  it,  and  you'll  see  what  I'll 
do!"  and,  with  a  kiss  to  the  children,  the  little  good 
fairy  departed,  leaving  the  family  to  their  Christmas 
Eve. 

What  that  Christmas  Eve  was,  when  the  husband 
and  father  came  home  with  the  new  and  softened  heart 
that  had  been  given  him,  who  can  say?  There  were 
joyful  tears  and  solemn  prayers,  and  earnest  vows  and 
purposes  of  a  new  life  heard  by  the  Shining  Ones  in 
the  room  that  night. 

"  And  the  angels  echoed  around  the  throne, 
Rejoice  !  for  the  Lord  brings  back  his  own." 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  2J 


SCENE    VI. 


"Now,  papa,  I  want  you  to  give  me  something 
special  to-day,  because  it's  Christmas,"  said  the  little 
princess  to  her  father,  as  she  kissed  and  wished  him 
"  Merry  Christmas  "  next  morning. 

"What  is  it,  Pussy— half  of  my  kingdom?" 

"No,  no,  papa;  not  so  much  as  that.  It's  a  little 
bit  of  my  own  way  that  I  want." 

"Of  course;  well,  what  is  it?" 

"Well,  I  want  you  to  take  John  back  again." 

Her  father's  face  grew  hard. 

"Now,  please,  papa,  don't  say  a  word  till  you  have 
heard  me.  John  was  a  capital  gardener;  he  kept  the 
green-house  looking  beautiful;  and  this  Mike  that 
we've  got  now,  he's  nothing  but  an  apprentice,  and 
stupid  as  an  owl  at  that !  He'll  never  do  in  the  world." 

"All  that  is  very  true,"  said  Mr.  De  Witt,  "but  John 
drinks,  and  I  won't  have  a  drinking  man." 

"  But,  papa,  /  mean  to  take  care  of  that.  I've 
written  out  the  temperance  pledge,  and  dated  it,  and 
got  John  to  sign  it,  and  here  it  is"  and  she  handed 
the  paper  to  her  father,  who  read  it  carefully,  and  sat 
turning  it  in  his  hands  while  his  daughter  went  on : 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  how  poor,  how  very  poor 
they  were.  His  wife  is  such  a  nice,  quiet,  hard 
working  woman,  and  has  two  such  pretty  children.  I 
went  to  see  them  and  carry  them  Christmas  things 


28  BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA. 

yesterday,  but  it's  no  good  doing  anything  if  John 
can't  get  work.  She  told  me  how  the  poor  fellow 
had  been  walking  the  streets  in  the  cold,  day  after 
day,  trying  everywhere,  and  nobody  would  take  him. 
It's  a  dreadful  time  now  for  a  man  to  be  out  of  work, 
and  it  isn't  fair  his  poor  wife  and  children  should 
suffer.  Do  try  him  again,  papa!" 

"John  always  did  better  with  the  pineapples  than 
anybody  we  have  tried,"  said  Mrs.  De  Witt  at  this 
point.  "  He  is  the  only  one  who  really  understands 
pineapples." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  there  was  a 
sound  of  chirping  voices  in  the  hall.  "  Please,  Miss 
Florence,"  said  Betty,  *  the  little  folks  says  they 
wants  to  give  you  a  Christmas."  She  added  in  a 
whisper:  "They  thinks  much  of  giving  you  something, 
poor  little  things — plaze  take  it  of  'em."  And  little 
Tottie  at  the  word  marched  in  and  offered  the  young 
princess  his  dear,  beautiful,  beloved  string  of  glass 
beads,  and  Elsie  presented  the  cross  of  red  berries — 
most  dear  to  her  heart  and  fair  to  her  eyes.  "  We 
wanted  to  give  you  something"  she  said  bashfully. 

"Oh,  you  lovely  dears!"  cried  Florence;  "how  sweet 
of  you !  I  shall  keep  these  beautiful  glass  beads 
always,  and  put  the  cross  up  over  my  dressing-table. 
I  thank  you  ever  so  much  !" 

"Are  those  John's  children?"  asked  Mr.  De  Witt, 
winking  a  tear  out  of  his  eye — he  was  at  bottom  a 
soft-hearted  old  gentleman. 

"Yes,  papa,"  said  Florence,  .caressing  Elsie's  curly 
hair, — "see  how  sweet  they  are!" 


BETTY'S  BRIGHT  IDEA.  29 

« Well — you  may  tell  John  I'll  try  him  again." 
And    so   passed    Florence's   Christmas,   with    a   new, 
warm  sense  of  joy  in  her  heart,  a  feeling  of  something 
in  the  world  to  be  done,  worth  doing. 

"How  much  joy  one  can  give  with  a  little  money!" 
she  said  to  herself  as  she  counted  over  what  she 
had  spent  on  her  Christmas.  Ah  yes  !  and  how.  true 
that  "It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive."  A 
shining,  invisible  hand  was  laid  on  her  head  in  bless 
ing  as  she  lay  down  that  night,  and  a  sweet  sense 
of  a  loving  presence  stole  like  music  into  her  soul. 
Unknown  to  herself,  she  had  that  day  taken  the  first 
step  out  of  self-life  into  that  life  of  love  and  care  for 
others  which  brought  the  King  of  Glory  down  to 
share  earth's  toils  and  sorrows.  And  that  precious 
experience  was  Christ's  Christmas  gift  to  her 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 


CHAPTER    I. 

MISS    DIANA. 

THANKSGIVING  was  impending  in  the  village  of 
Mapleton  on  the  2oth  of  November,  1825. 

The  Governor's  proclamation  had  been  duly  and  truly 
read  from  the  pulpit  the  Sunday  before,  to  the  great 
consternation  of  Miss  Briskett,  the  ambulatory  dress 
maker,  who  declared  confidentially  to  Deacon  Pitkin's 
wife  that  "  she  didn't  see  no  thin'  how  she  was  goin'  to 
get  through  things — and  there  was  Saphiry's  gown,  and 
Miss  Deacon  Trowbridge's  cloak,  and  Lizy  Jane's  new 
merino,  not  a  stroke  done  on't.  The  Governor  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself  for  hurrying  matters  so." 

It  was  a  very  rash  step  for  Miss  Briskett  to  go  to  the 
length  of  such  a  remark  about  the  Governor,  but  the 
deacon's  wife  was  one  of  the  few  women  who  are  non 
conductors  of  indiscretion,  and  so  the  Governor  never 
heard  of  it. 

This  particular  Thanksgiving  tide  was  marked  in 
Mapleton  by  exceptionally  charming  weather.  Once  in 
a  great  while  the  inclement  New  England  skies  are 
taken  with  a  remorseful  twinge  and  forget  to  give  their 
usual  snap  of  September  frost  which  generally  bites  off 


34  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

all  the  pretty  flowers  in  so  heart-breaking  a  way,  and 
then  you  can  have  lovely  times  quite  down  through 
November. 

It  was  so  this  year  at  Mapleton.  Though  the  Thanks 
giving  proclamation  had  been  read,  and  it  was  past  the 
middle  of  November,  yet  marigolds  and  four-o'clocks 
were  all  ablaze  in  the  gardens,  and  the  golden  rod  and 
purple  aster  were  blooming  over  the  fields  as  if  they 
were  expecting  to  keep  it  up  all  winter. 

It  really  is  affecting,  the  jolly  good  heart  with  which 
these  bright  children  of  the  rainbow  flaunt  and  wave 
and  dance  and  go  on  budding  and  blossoming  in  the 
very  teeth  and  snarl  of  oncoming  winter.  An  autumn 
golden  rod  or  aster  ought  to  be  the  symbol  for  pluck 
and  courage,  and  might  serve  a  New  England  crest  as 
the  broom  flower  did  the  old  Planta^nets. 

The  trees  round  Mapleton  were  looking  like  gigantic 
tulip  beds,  and  breaking  every  hour  into  new  phantas 
magoria  of  color ;  and  the  great  elm  that  overshadowed 
the  red  Pitkin  farm-house  seemed  like  a  dome  of  gold, 
and  sent  a  yellow  radiance  through  all  the  doors  and 
windows  as  the  dreamy  autumn  sunshine  streamed 
through  it. 

The  Pitkin  elm  was  noted  among  the  great  trees  of 
New  England.  Now  and  then  Nature  asserts  herself 
and  does  something  so  astonishing  and  overpowering 
as  actually  to  strike  through  the  crust  of  human  stupid 
ity,  and  convince  mankind  that  a  tre'e  is  something 
greater  than  they  are.  As  a  general  thing  the  human 
race  has  a  stupid  hatred  of  trees.  They  embrace  every 
chance  to  cut  them  down.  They  have  no  idea  of  their 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  35 

fitness  for  anything  but  firewood  or  fruit  bearing.  But 
a  great  cathedral  elm,  with  shadowy  aisles  of  boughs, 
its  choir  of  whispering  winds  and  chanting  birds,  its 
hush  and  solemnity  and  majestic  grandeur,  actually 
conquers  the  dull  human  race  and  asserts  its  leave  to 
be  in  a  manner  to  which  all  hearts  respond  ;  and  so  the 
great  elms  of  New  England  have  got  to  be  regarded 
with  a  sort  of  pride  as  among  her  very  few  crown  jewels, 
and  the  Pitkin  elm  was  one  of  these. 

But  wasn't  it  a  busy  time  in  Mapleton !  Busy  is  no 
word  for  it.  Oh,  the  choppings,  the  poundings,  the 
stoning  of  raisins,  the  projections  of  pies  and  puddings, 
the  killing  of  turkeys — who  can  utter  it?  The  very 
chip  squirrels  in  the  stone-walls,  who  have  a  family 
custom  of  making  a  market-basket  of  their  mouths, 
were  rushing  about  with  chops  incredibly  distended, 
and  their  tails  had  an  extra  whisk  of  thanksgiving  alert 
ness.  A  squirrel's  Thanksgiving  dinner  is  an  affair  of 
moment,  mind  you. 

In  the  great  roomy,  clean  kitchen  of  the  deacon's 
house  might  be  seen  the  lithe,  comely  form  of  Diana 
Pitkin  presiding  over  the  roaring  great  oven  which  was 
to  engulf  the  armies  of  pies  and  cakes  which  were  in 
due  course  of  preparation  on  the  ample  tables. 

Of  course  you  want  to  know  who  Diana  Pitkin  was. 
It  was  a  general  fact  about  this  young  lady  that  any 
body  who  gave  one  look  at  her,  whether  at  church  or 
at  home,  always  inquired  at  once  with  effusion,  "  Who  is 
she?" — particularly  if  the  inquirer  was  one  of  the  mas 
culine  gender. 

This  was  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  Miss 


36  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

Diana  presented  to  the  first  view  of  the  gazer  a  daz 
zling  combination  of  pink  and  white,  a  flashing  pair  of 
black  eyes,  a  ripple  of  dimples  about  the  prettiest  little 
rosy  mouth  in  the  world,  and  a  frequent  somewhat 
saucy  laugh,  which  showed  a  set  of  teeth  like  pearls. 
Add  .to  this  a  quick  wit,  a  generous  though  spicy  tem 
per,  and  a  nimble  tongue,  and  you  will  not  wonder  that 
Miss  Diana  was  a  marked  character  at  Mapleton,  and 
that  the  inquiry  who  she  was  was  one  of  the  most  in 
teresting  facts  of  statistical  information. 

Well,  she  was  Deacon  Pitkin's  second  cousin,  and  of 
course  just  in  that  convenient  relationship  to  the  Pitkin 
boys  which  has  all  the  advantages  of  cousinship  and 
none  of  the  disadvantages  as  may  be  plain  to  an  ordi 
nary  observer.  For  if  Miss  Diana  wished  to  ride  or 
row  or  dance  with  any  of  the  Pitkin  boys,  why  shouldn't 
she  ?  Were  they  not  her  cousins  ?  But  if  any  of  these 
aforenamed  young  fellows  advanced  on  the  strength  of 
these  intimacies  a  presumptive  claim  to  nearer  relation 
ship,  why,  then  Diana  was  astonished — of  course  she 
had  regarded  them  as  her  cousins !  and  she  was  sure 
she  couldn't  think  what  they  could  be  dreaming  of — "  A 
cousin  is  just  like  a  brother,  you  know." 

This  was  just  what  James  Pitkin  did  not  believe  in, 
and  now  as  he  is  walking  over  hill  and  dale  from  Cam 
bridge  College  to  his  father's  house  he  is  gathering  up 
a  decided  resolution  to  tell  Diana  that  he  is  not  and 
will  not  be  to  her  as  a  brother — that  she  must  be  to 
him  all  or  nothing.  James  is  the  brightest,  the  tallest, 
and,  the  Mapleton  girls  said,  the  handsomest  of  the 
Pitkin  boys.  He  is  a  strong-hearted,  generous,  reso- 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 


37 


lute  fellow  as  ever  undertook  to  walk  thirty-five  miles 
home  to  eat  his  Thanksgiving  dinner. 


DIANA. 


38  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

We  are  not  sure  that  Miss  Diana  is  not  thinking  of 
him  quite  as  much  as  he  of  her,  as  she  stands  there  with 
the  long  kitchen  shovel  in  one  hand,  and  one  plump 
white  arm  thrust  into  the  oven,  and  her  little  head 
cocked  on  one  side,  her  brows  bent,  and  her  rosy  mouth 
pursed  up  with  a  solemn  sense  of  the  importance  of  her 
judgment  as  she  is  testing  the  heat  of  her  oven. 

Oh,  Di,  Di!  for  all  you  seem  to  have  nothing  on 
your  mind  but  the  responsibility  for  all  those  pumpkin 
pies  and  cranberry  tarts,  we  wouldn't  venture  a  very 
large  wager  that  you  are  not  thinking  about  cousin 
James  under  it  all  at  this  very  minute,  and  that  all  this 
pretty  bustling  housewifeliness  owes  its  spice  and  flavor 
to  the  thought  that  James  is  coming  to  the  Thanksgiv 
ing  dinner. 

To  be  sure  if  any  one  had  told  Di  so,  she  would  have 
flouted  the  very  idea.  Besides,  she  had  privately  in 
formed  Almira  Sisson,  her  special  particular  confidante, 
that  she  knew  Jim  would  come  home  from  college  full 
of  conceit,  and  thinking  that  everybody  must  bow 
down  to  him,  and  for  her  part  she  meant  to  make  him 
know  his  place.  Of  course  Jim  and  she  were  good 
friends,  etc.,  etc. 

Oh,  Di,  Di !  you  silly,  naughty  girl,  was  it  for  this  that 
you  stood  so  long  at  your  looking-glass  last  night,  arrang 
ing  how  you  would  do  your  hair  for  the  Thanksgiving 
night  dance?  Those  killing  bows  which  you  deliber 
ately  fabricated  and  lodged  like  bright  butterflies  among 
the  dark  waves  of  your  hair — who  were  you  thinking 
of  as  you  made  and  posed  them?  Lay  your  hand  on 
your  heart  and  say  who  to  you  has  ever  seemed  the 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  39 

best,  the  truest,  the  bravest  and  kindest  of  your  friends. 
But  Di  doesn't  trouble  herself  with  such  thoughts — she 
only  cuts  out  saucy  mottoes  from  the  flaky  white  paste 
to  lay  on  the  red  cranberry  tarts,  of  which  she  makes  a 
special  one  for  each  cousin.  For  there  is  Bill,  the 
second  eldest,  who  stays  at  home  and  helps  work  the 
farm.  She  knows  that  Bill  worships  her  very  shoe-tie, 
and  obeys  all  her  mandates  with  the  faithful  docility  of 
a  good  Newfoundland  dog,  and  Di  says  "  she  thinks 
everything  of  Bill — she  likes  Bill."  So  she  does  Ed, 
who  comes  a  year  or  two  behind  Bill,  and  is  trembling 
out  of  bashful  boyhood.  So  she  does  Rob  and  Ike  and 
Pete  and  the  whole  healthy,  ramping  train  who  fill  the 
Pitkin  farm-house  with  a  racket  of  boots  and  boys.  So 
she  has  made  every  one  a  tart  with  his  initial  on  it  and 
a  saucy  motto  or  two,  "just  to  keep  them  from  being 
conceited,  you  know.'v 

All  day  she  keeps  busy  by  the  side  of  the  deacon's 
wife — a  delicate,  thin,  quiet  little  woman,  with  great 
thoughtful  eyes  and  a  step  like  a  snowflake.  New  En 
gland  had  of  old  times,  and  has  still,  perhaps,  in  her 
farm-houses,  these  women  who  seem  from  year  to  year 
to  develop  in  the  spiritual  sphere  as  the  bodily  form 
shrinks  and  fades.  While  the  cheek  grows  thin  and  the 
form  spare,  the  will-power  grows  daily  stronger ;  though 
the  outer  man  perish,  the  inner  man  is  renewed  day  by 
day.  The  worn  hand  that  seems  so  weak  yet  holds 
every  thread  and  controls  every  movement  of  the  most 
complex  family  life,  and  wonders  are  daily  accomplished 
by  the  presence  of  a  woman  who  seems  little  more  than 
a  spirit.  The  New  England  wife-mother  was  the  one 


40  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

little  jeweled  pivot  on  which  all  the  wheel  work  of  the 
family  moved. 

"Well,  haven't  we  done  a  good  day's  work,  cousin?" 
says  Diana,  when  ninety  pies  of  every  ilk — quince,  apple, 
cranberry,  pumpkin%  and  mince — have  been  all  safely 
delivered  from  the  oven  and  carried  up  into  the  great 
vacant  chamber,  where,  ranged  in  rows  and  frozen  solid, 
they  are  to  last  over  New  Year's  day !  She  adds, 
demonstratively  clasping  the  little  woman  round  the 
neck  and  leaning  her  bright  cheek  against  her  whitening 
hair,  "  Haven't  we  been  smart  ?"  And  the  calm,  thought 
ful  eyes  turn  lovingly  upon  her  as  Mary  Pitkin  puts  her 
arm  round  her  and  answers  : 

"  Yes,  my  daughter,  you  have  done  wonderfully.  We 
couldn't  do  without  you  !" 

And  Diana  lifts  her  head  and  laughs.  She  likes  pet 
ting  and  praising  as  a  cat  likes  being  stroked ;  but,  for 
all  that,  the  little  puss  has  her  claws  and  a  sly  notion  of 
using  them. 


CHAPTER   II. 

BIAH    CARTER. 

IT  was  in  the  flush  and  glow  of  a  gorgeous  sunset 
that  you  might  have  seen  the  dark  form  of  the  Pit- 
kin  farm-house  rising  on  a  green  hill  against  the  orange 
sky. 

The  red  house,  with  its  overhanging  canopy  of  elm, 
stood  out  like  an  old  missal  picture  done  on  a  gold 
ground. 

Through  the  glimmer  of  the  yellow  twilight  might 
be  seen  the  stacks  of  dry  corn-stalks  and  heaps  of 
golden  pumpkins  in  the  neighboring  fields,  from  which 
the  slow  oxen  were  bringing  home  a  cart  well  laden 
with  farm  produce. 

It  was  the  hour  before  supper  time,  and  Biah  Carter, 
the  deacon's  hired  man,  was  leaning  against  a  fence, 
waiting  for  his  evening  meal ;  indulging  the  while  in  a 
stream  of  conversational  wisdom  which  seemed  to  flow 
all  the  more  freely  from  having  been  dammed  up 
ttfrough  the  labors  of  the  day. 

Biah  was,  in  those  far  distant  times  of  simplicity  a 
"  mute  inglorious"  newspaper  man.  Newspapers  in 
those  days  were  as  rare  and  unheard  of  as  steam  cars 
or  the  telegraph,  but  Biah  had  within  him  all  the  mak 
ing  of  a  thriving  modern  reporter,  and  no  paper  to  use 
it  on.  He  was  a  walking  biographical  and  statistical 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 


dictionary  of 
all  the  affairs 
of  the  good 
folks  of  Ma 
ple  ton.  He 
knew  every 
piece  of  furni 
ture  in  their 
houses,  and 
what  they  gave 
for  it ;  every 
foot  of  land, 
and  what  it 
was  worth; 
every  ox,  ass 
and  sheep; 
every  man, 
woman  and 
child  in  town. 
And  Biah 
could  give 
pretty  shrewd 
character  pict 
ures  also,  and 
whoever  want 
ed  to  inform 
himself  of  the 
status  of  any 
person  or 
thing  in  Ma- 
pleton  would 


BIAH. 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  43 

have  done  well  to  have  turned  the  faucet  of  Biah's 
stream  of  talk,  and  watched  it  respectfully  as  it  came, 
for  it  was  commonly  conceded  that  what  Biah  Carter 
didn't  know  about  Mapleton  was  hardly  worth  knowing. 

"  Putty  piece  o'  property,  this  'ere  farm,"  he  said, 
surveying  the  scene  around  him  with  the  air  of  a  con 
noisseur.  "  None  o'  yer  stun  pastur  land  where  the 
sheep  can't  get  their  noses  down  through  the  rocks 
without  a  file  to  sharpen  'em  !  Deacon  Pitkin  did  a 
putty  fair  stroke  6'  business  when  he  swapped  off  his 
old  place  for  this  'ere.  That  are  old  place  was  all 
swamp  land  and  stun  pa«tur;  wa'n't  good  for  raisin' 
nothin'  but  juniper  btjshes  and  bull  frogs.  But  I  tell 
yeu"  preceded  Biah,  with  a  shrewd  wink,  "  that  are 
mortgage  pinches  the  deacon ;  works  him  like  a  dose 
of  aloes  and  picry,  it  does.  Deacon  fairly  gets  lean 
on't." 

"Why,"  said  Abner  Jenks,  a  stolid  plow  boy  to 
whom  this  stream  of  remark  was  addressed ;  "  this  'ere 
place  ain't  mortgaged,  is  it?  Du  tell,  naow!" 

"  Why,  yis  ;  don't  ye  know  that  are  ?  Why  there's 
risin'  two  thousand  dollars  due  on  this  'ere  farm,  and 
if  the  deacon  don't  scratch  for  it  and  pay  up  squar 
to  the  minit,  old  Squire  Norcross'll  foreclose  on  him. 
Old  squire  hain't  no  bowels,  I  tell  yeu,  and  the  deacon 
knows  he  hain't :  and  I  tell  you  it  keeps  the  deacon 
dancin'  lively  as  corn  on  a  hot  shovel." 

"The  deacon's  a  master  hand  to  work,"  said  Abner; 
"so's  the  boys." 

"Wai,  yis,  the  deacon  is,"  said  Bkh,  turning  con 
templatively  to  the  farmhouse;  "there  ain't  a  crittur 


44  DEACON  PITKIN' S  FARM. 

in  that  are  house  that  there  ain't  the  most  work  got 
out  of  'em  that  ken  be,  down  to  Jed  and  Sam,  the 
little  uns.  They  work  like  tigers,  every  soul  of  'em, 
from  four  o'clock  in  she  morning'  as  long  as  they  can 
see,  and  Mis'  Pitkin  she  works  all  the  evening — wo 
man's  work  ain't  never  done,  they  say." 

"  She's  a  good  woman,  Mis'  Pitkin  is,"  said  Abner, 
"  and  she's  a  smart  worker." 

In  this  phrase  Abner  solemnly  expressed  his  highest 
ideal  of  a  human  being. 

"Smart  ain't  no  word  for  't,"  said  Biah,  with  alert 
ness.  "  Declar  for  't,  the  grit  o'  that  are  woman  beats 
me.  Had  eight  children  right  along  in  a  string  'thout 
stoppin',  done  all  her  own  work,  never  kep'  no  gal  nor 
nothin' ;  allers  up  and  dressed ;  allers  to  meetin'  Sun 
day,  and  to  the  prayer-meetin'  weekly,  and  never  stops 
workin' :  when  'tan't  one  thing  it's  another — cookin', 
washin',  ironin',  making  butter  and  cheese,  and  'tween 
spells  cuttin'  and  sewin',  and  if  she  ain't  doin'  that, 
why,  she's  braidin'  straw  to  sell  to  the  store  or  knit 
ting — she's  the  perpetual  motion  ready  found,  Mis' 
Pitkin  is." 

"  Want  ter  know,"  said  the  auditor,  as  a  sort  of 
musical  rest  in  this  monotone  of  talk.  "  Ain't  she 
smart,  though  !" 

"  Smart !  Well,  I  should  think  she  was.  She's  over 
and  into  everything  that's  goin'  on  in  that  house.  The 
deacon  wouldn't  know  himself  without  her;  nor 
wouldn't  none  of  them  boys,  they  just  live  out  of  her ; 
she  kind  o'  keeps  'em  all  up." 

"Wai,    she   ain't    a   hefty    wojnan,   naow,"    said    the 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  45 

interlocutor,  who  seemed  to  be  possessed  by  a  dim 
idea  that  worth  must  be  weighed  by  the  pound. 

"  Law  bless  you,  no!  She's  a  little  crittur;  nothin' 
to  look  to,  but  every  bit  in  her  is  live.  She  looks 
pale,  kind  o'  slips  round  still  like  moonshine,  but 
where  anything's  to  be  done,  there  Mis'  Pitkin  is; 
and  her  hand  allers  goes  to  the  right  spot,  and  things 
is  done  afore  ye  know  it.  That  are  woman's  kind  of 
still;  she'll  slip  off  and  be  gone 'to  heaven  some  day 
afore  folks  know  it.  There  comes  the  deacon  and  Jim 
over  the  hill.  Jim  walked  home  from  college  day 
'fore  yesterday,  and  turned,  right  in  to-day  to  help  get 
in  the  taters,  workin'  right  along.  Deacon  was  awful 
grouty." 

•'What  was  the  matter  o'  the  deacon?" 

"  Oh,  the  mortgage  kind  o'  works  him.  The  time 
to  pay  comes  round  putty  soon,  and  the  deacon's  face 
allers  goes  down  long  as  yer  arm.  'Tis  a  putty  tight 
pull  havin'  Jim  in  college,  losin'  his  work  and  havin' 
term  bills  and  things  to  pay.  Themf  are  college  folks 
charges  up,  I  tell  you.  I  seen  it  works  the  deacon,  I 
heard  him  a-jawin'  Jim  'bout  it." 

"  What  made  Jim  go  to  college  ?"  said  Abner  with 
slow  wonder  in  his  heavy  face. 

"  Oh,  he  allers  was  sot  on  eddication,  and  Mis'  Pit- 
kin  she's  sot  on't,  too,  in  her  softly  way,  and  softly 
women  is  them  that  giner'lly  carries  their  p'ints,  fust 
or  last. 

"But  there's  one  that  ain't  softly!"  Biah  suddenly 
continued,  as  the  vision  of  a  black-haired,  bright-eyed 
girl  suddenly  stepped  forth  from  the  doorway,  and 


46  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

stood  shading  her  face  with  her  hands,  looking  towards 
the  sunset.  The  evening  light  lit  up  a  jaunty  spray 
of  golden  rod  that  she  had  wreathed  in  her  wavy 
hair,  and  gave  a  glow  to  the  rounded  outlines  of  her 
handsome  form.  "  There's  a  sparkler  for  you !  And 
no  saint,  neither  !"  was  Biah's  comment.  "  That  crittur 
has  got  more  prances  and  capers  in  her  than  any 
three-year-old  filly  I  knows  on.  He'll  be  cunning  that 
ever  gets  a  bridle  on  her." 

"  Some  says  she's  going  to  hev  Jim  Pitkin,  and  some 
says  it's  Bill,"  said  Abner>  delighted  to  be  able  to  add 
his  mite  of  gossip  to  the  stream  while  it  was  flowing. 

"  She's  sweet  on  Jim  while  he's  round,  and  she's 
sweet  on  Bill  when  Jim's  up  to  college,  and  between 
um  she  gets  took  round  to  everything  that  going. 
She  gives  one  a  word  over  one  shoulder,  and  one  over 
t'other,  and  if  the  Lord  above  knows  what's  in  that 
gal's  mind  or  what  she's  up  to,  he  knows  more  than  I 
do,  or  she  either,  else  I  lose  my  bet." 

Biah  made  this  admission  with  a  firmness  that  might 
have  been  a  model  to  theologians  or  philosophers  in 
general.  There  was  a  point,  it  appeared,  where  he  was 
not  omniscient.  His  universal  statistical  knowledge 
had  a  limit. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    SHADOW. 

is  no  moment  of  life,  however  festive,  that 
JL  does  not  involve  the  near  presence  of  a  possible 
tragedy.  When  the  concert  of  life  is  playing  the  gay 
est  and  airiest  music,  it  requires  only  the  change  of  a 
little  flat  or  sharp  to  modulate  into  the  minor  key. 

There  seemed  at  first  glance  only  the  elements  of 
joyousness  and  gayety  in  the  surroundings  at  the  Pit- 
kin  farm.  Thanksgiving  was  come — the  family,  healthy, 
rosy,  and  noisy,  were  all  under  the  one  roof-tree. 
There  was  energy,-  youth,  intelligence,  beauty,  a  pair 
of  lovers  on  the  eve  of  betrothal — just  in  that  misty, 
golden  twilight  that  precedes  the  full  sunrise  of  avowed 
and  accepted  love — and  yet  behind  it  all  was  walking 
with  stealthy  step  the  shadow  of  a  coming  sorrow. 

"What  in  the  world  ails  James?"  said  Diana  as  she 
retreated  from  the  door  and  surveyed  him  at  a  distance 
from  her  chamber  window.  His  face  was  like  a  land 
scape  over  which  a  thunder-cloud  has  drifted,  and  he 
walked  beside  his  father  with  a  peculiar  air  of  proud 
displeasure  and  repression. 

At  that  moment  the  young  man  was  struggling  with 
the  bitterest  sorrow  that  can  befall  youth — the  break 
ing  up  of  his  life-purpose.  He  had  just  come  to  a 


48  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

decision  to  sacrifice  his  hopes  of  education,  his  man's 
ambition,  his  love,  his  home  and  family,  and  become 
a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  How  this  befell 
requires  a  sketch  of  character. 

Deacon  Silas  Pitkin  was  a  fair  specimen  of  a  class 
of  men  not  uncommon  in  New  England — men  too 
sensitive  for  the  severe  physical  conditions  of  New 
England  life,  and  therefore  both  suffering  and  inflict 
ing  suffering.  He  was  a  man  of  the  finest  moral  traits, 
of  incorruptible  probity,  of  scrupulous  honor,  of  an 
exacting  conscientiousness,  and  of  a  sincere  piety. 
But  he  had  begun  life  with  nothing;  his  whole  stand 
ing  in  the  world  had  been  gained  inch  by  inch  by  the 
most  unremitting  economy  and  self-denial,  and  he  was 
a  man  of  little  capacity  for  hope,  of  whom  it  was 
said,  in  popular  phraseology,  that  he  "  took  things 
hard."  He  was  never  sanguine  of  good,  always  ex 
pectant  of  evil,  and  seemed  to  view '  life  like  a  sentinel 
forbidden  to  sleep  and  constantly  under  arms. 

For  such  a  man  to  be  harassed  by  a  mortgage  upon 
his  homestead  was  a  steady  wear  and  drain  upon  his 
vitality.  There  were  times  when  a  positive  horror  of 
darkness  came  down  upon  him — when  his  wife's  un 
troubled,  patient  hopefulness  seemed  to  him  like  reck 
lessness,  when  the  smallest  item  of  expense  was  an 
intolerable  burden,  and  the  very  daily  bread  of  life 
was  full  of  bitterness;  and  when  these  paroxysms  were 
upon  him,  one  of  the  heaviest  of  his  burdens  was  the 
support  of  his  son  in  college.  It  was  true  that  he 
was  proud  of  his  son's  talents  and  sympathized  with 
his  love  for  learning — he  had  to  the  full  that  sense  of 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  49 

the  value  of  education  which  is  the  very  vital  force 
of  the  New  England  mind — and  in  an  hour  when 
things  looked  brighter  to  him  he  had  given  his  con 
sent  to  the  scheme  of  a  college  education  freely. 

James  was  industrious,  frugal,  energetic,  and  had 
engaged  to  pay  the  most  of  his  own  expenses  by 
teaching  in  the  long  winter  vacations.  But  unfor 
tunately  this  year  the  Mapleton  Academy,  which  had 
been  promised  to  him  for  the  winter  term,  had  been 
taken  away  by  a  little  maneuver  of  local  politics  and 
given  to  another,  thus  leaving  him  without  resource. 
This  disappointment,  coming  just  at  the  time  when 
the  yearly  interest  upon  the  mortgage  was  due,  had 
brought  upon  his  father  one  of  those  paroxysms  of 
helpless  gloom  and  discouragement  in  which  the  very 
world  itself  seemed  clothed  in  sack-cloth. 

From  the  time  that  he  heard  the  Academy  was 
gone,  Deacon  Silas  lay  awake  nights  in  the  blackness 
of  darkness.  "  We  shall  all  go  to  the  poorhouse 
together — that's  where  it  will  end,"  he  said,  as  he 
tossed  restlessly  in  the  dark. 

"  Oh  no,  no,  my  dear,"  said  his  wife,  with  those 
serene  eyes  that  had  looked  through  so  many  gloomy 
hours;  "we  must  cast  our  care  on  God." 

"  It's  easy  for  women  to  talk.  You  don't  have  the 
interest  money  to  pay,  you  are  perfectly  reckless  of 
expense.  Nothing  would  do  but  James  must  go  to 
college,  and  now  see  what  it's  bringing  us  to!" 

"  Why,  father,  I  thought  you  yourself  were  in  favor 
of  it." 

"Well,  I  did  wrong   then.     You  persuaded  me  into 


50  »       DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

it.  I'd  no  business  to  have  listened  to  you  and  Jim 
and  got  all  this  load  on  my  shoulders." 

Yet  Mary  Pitkin  knew  in  her  own  calm,  clear  head 
that  she  had  not  been  reckless  of  expense.  The 
yearly  interest  money  was  ever  before  her,  and  her 
own  incessant  toils  had  wrought  no  small  portion  of 
what  was  needed  to  pay  it.  Her  butter  at  the 
store  commanded  the  very  highest  price,  her  straw 
braiding  sold  for  a  little  more  than  that  of  any 
other  hand,  and  she  had  calculated  all  the  returns 
so  exactly  that  she  felt  sure  that  the  interest  money 
for  that  year  was  safe.  She  had  seen  her  husband 
pass  through  this  nervous  crisis  many  times  before, 
and  she  had  learned  to  be  blamed  in  silence,  for 
she  was  a  woman  out  of  whom  all  selfness  had 
long  since  died,  leaving  only  the  tender  pity  of  the 
nurse  and  the  consoler.  Her  soul  rested  on  her 
Saviour,  the  one  ever-present,  inseparable  friend ; 
and  when  it  did  no  good  to  speak  to  her  husband, 
she  spoke  to  her  God  for  him,  and  so  was  peace 
ful  and  peace-giving. 

Even  her  husband  himself  felt  her  strengthening, 
rest-giving  power,  and  for  this  reason  he  bore  down 
on  her  with  the  burden  of  all  his  tremors  and  his 
cares;  for  while  he  disputed,  he  yet  believed  her, 
and  rested  upon  her  with  an  utter  helpless  trust, 
as  the  good  angel  of  his  house.  Had  she  for  a 
moment  given  way  to  apprehension,  had  her  step 
been  a  thought  less  firm,  her  eye  less  peaceful,  then 
indeed  the  world  itself  would  have  seemed  to  be 
sinking  under  his  feet.  Meanwhile  she  was  to  him 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  5! 

that  kind  of  relief  which  we  derive  from  a  person 
to  whom  we  may  say  everything  without  a  fear  of  its 
harming  them.  He  felt  quite  sure  that,  say  what  he 
would,  Mary  would  always  be  hopeful  and  courage 
ous  ;  and  he  felt  some  secret  idea  that  his  own  gloomy 
forebodings  were  of  service  in  restricting  and  sobering 
what  seemed  to  him  her  too  sanguine  nature.  He 
blindly  reverenced,  without  ability  fully  to  comprehend, 
her  exalted  religious  fervor  and  the  quietude  of  soul 
that  it  brought.  But  he  did  not  know  through  how 
many  silent  conflicts,  how  many  prayers,  how  many 
tears,  how  many  hopes  resigned  and  sorrows  welcomed, 
she  had  come  into  that  last  refuge  of  sorrowful  souls, 
that  immovable  peace  when  all  life's  anguish  ceases 
and  the  will  of  God  becomes  the  final  rest. 

But,  unhappily  for  this  present  crisis,  there  was,  as 
there  often  is  in  family  life,  just  enough  of  the  father's 
nature  in  the  son  to  bring  them  into  collision  with 
each  other.  James  had  the  same  nervously  anxious 
nature,  the  same  intense  feeling  of  responsibility,  the 
same  tendency  towards  morbid  earnestness;  and  on 
that  day  there  had  come  collision. 

His  father  had  poured  forth  upon  him  his  fears  and 
apprehensions  in  a  manner  which  implied  a  censure 
on  his  son,  as  being  willing  to  accept  a  life  of 
scholarly  ease  while  his  father  and  mother  were,  as 
he  expressed  it,  "  working  their  lives  away." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  father,  as  God  is  my  witness,  I 
mean  to  pay  all ;  you  shall  not  suffer ;  interest  and 
principal — all  that  my  work  would  bring — I  engage  to 
pay  back." 


52  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

"You! — you'll  never  have  anything!  You'll  be  a 
poor  man  as  long  as  you  live.  Lost  the  Academy 
this  Fall — that  tells  the  story!" 

"But,  father,  it  wasn't  my  fault  that  I  lost  the 
Academy." 

"  It's  no  matter  whose  fault  it  was — that's  neither 
here  nor  there — you  lost  it,  and  here  you  are  with  the 
vacation  before  you  and  nothing  to  do  !  There's  your 
mother,  she's  working  herself  to  death ;  she  never 
gets  any  rest.  I  expect  she'll  go  off  in  a  consumption 
one  of  these  days." 

"  There,  there,  father  !  that's  enough  !  Please  don't 
say  any  more.  You'll  see  I  will  find  something  to 
do!" 

There  are  words  spoken  at  times  in  life  that  do  not 
sound  bitter  though  they  come  from  a  pitiable  depth  of 
anguish,  and  as  James  turned  from  his  father  he  had 
taken  a  resolution  that  convulsed  him  with  pain;  his 
strong  arms  quivered  with  the  repressed  agony,  and 
he  hastily  sought  a  distant  part  of  the  field,  and  began 
cutting  and  stacking  corn-stalks  with  a  nervous  energy. 

"Why,  ye  work  like  thunder!"  was  Biah's  comment. 
"Book  1'arnin'  hain't  spiled  ye  yet;  your  arms,  are 
good  for  suthin'." 

"Yes,  my  arms  are  good  for  something,  and  I'll  use 
them  for  something,"  sa;J  Jim. 

There  was  raging  a  tempest  in  his  soul.  For  a 
young  fellow  of  a  Puritan  education  in  those  days  to 
be  angry  with  his  father  was  somewhat  that  seemed 
to  him  as  awful  a  sacrilege  as  to  be  angry  with  his 
God,  and  yet  he  felt  that  his  father  had  been  bitterly, 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  53 

cruelly  unjust  towards  him.  He  had  driven  economy 
to  the  most  stringent  extremes;  he  had  avoided  the 
intimacy  of  his  class  fellows,  lest  he  should  be  drawn 
into  needless  expenses ;  he  had  borne  with  shabby 
clothing  and  mean  fare  among  better  dressed  and 
richer  associates,  and  been  willing  to  bear  it.  He 
had  studied  faithfully,  unremittingly,  for  two  years, 
but  at  the  moment  he  turned  from  his  father  the 
throb  that  wrung  his  heart  was  the  giving  up  of  all. 
He  had  in  his  pocket  a  letter  from  his  townsman 
and  schoolmate,  Sam  Allen,  mate  of  an  East  Indiaman 
just  fitting  out  at  Salem,  and  it  said : 

"We  are  going  to  sail  with  a  picked  crew,  and  we  want  one 
just  such  a  fellow  as  you  for  third  mate.  Come  along,  and  you 
can  go  right  up,  and  your  college  mathematics  will  be  all  the  bettef 
for  us.  Come  right  off,  and  your  berth  will  be  ready,  and  away  for 
round  the  world  !" 

Here,  to  be  sure,  was  immediate  position — wages 

employment— freedom  from  the  intolerable  burden  of 
dependence ;  but  it  was  accepted  at  the  sacrifice  of 
all  his  life's  hopes.  True,  that  in  those  days  the  ex 
periment  of  a  sea-faring  life  had  often,  even  in  in 
stances  which  he  recalled,  brought  forth  fortune  and 
an  ability  to  settle  down  in  peaceful  competence  in 
after  life.  But  there  was  Diana.  Would  she  wait  for 
him?  Encircled  on  all  sides  with  lovers,  would  she 
keep  faith  with  an  adventurer  gone  for  an  indefinite 
quest?  The  desponding,  self-distrusting  side  of  his 
nature  said,  "No.  Why  should  she?'  Then,  to  go 
was  to  give  up  Diana— to  make  up  his  mind  to  have 
her  belong  to  some  other.  Then  there  was  his 


54  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

mother.  An  unutterable  reverential  pathos  always  to 
him  encircled  the  idea  of  his  mother.  Her  life  to 
him  seemed  a  hard  one.  From  the  outside,  as  he 
viewed  it,  it  was  all  self-sacrifice  and  renunciation. 
Yet  he  knew  that  she  had  set  her  heart  on  an 
education  for  him,  as  much  as  it  could  be  set  on 
anything  earthly.  He  was  her  pride,  her  hope ;  and 
just  now  that  very  thought  was  full  of  bitterness. 
There  was  no  help  for  it ;  he  must  not  let  her  work 
herself  to  death  for  him  ;  he  would  make  the  house 
hold  vessel  lighter  by  the  throwing  himself  into  the 
sea,  to  sink  or  swim  as  might  happen  ;  and  then,  per 
haps,  he  might  come  back  with  money  to  help  them 
all. 

All  this  was  what  was  surging  and  boiling  in  his 
mind  when  he  came  in  from  his  work  to  the  supper 
that  night. 


CHAPTER    IV.    . 

THE  GOOD-BY. 

DIANA  PITKIN  was  like  some  of  the  fruits  of 
her  native  hills,  full  of  juices  which  tend  to 
sweetness  in  maturity,  but  which  when  not  quite  ripe 
have  a  pretty  decided  dash  of  sharpness.  There  are 
grapes  that  require  a  frost  to  ripen  them,  and  Diana 
was  somewhat  akin  to  these. 

She  was  a  mettlesome,  warm-blooded  creature,  full 
of  the  energy  and  audacity  of  youth,  to  whom  as  yet 
life  was  only  a  frolic  and  a  play  spell.  Work  never 
tired  her.  She  ate  heartily,  slept  peacefully,  went  to 
bed  laughing,  ancf  got  up  in  a  merry  humor  in  the 
morning.  Diana's  laugh  was  as  early  a  note  as  the 
song  of  birds.  Such  a  nature  is  not  at  first  sympa 
thetic.  It  has  in  it  some  of  the  unconscious  cruelty 
which  belongs  to  nature  itself,  whose  sunshine  never 
pales  at  human  trouble.  Eyes  that  have  never  wept 
cannot  comprehend  sorrow.  Moreover,  a  lively  girl  of 
eighteen,  looking  at  life  out  of  eyes  which  bewilder 
others  with  their  brightness,  does  not  always  see  the 
world  truly,  and  is  sometimes  judged  to  be  heartless 
when  she  is  only  immature. 

Nothing  was  further  from  Diana's  thoughts  than 
that  any  grave  trouble  was  overhanging  her  lover's 
mind — for  her  lover  she  very  well  knew  that  James 


5  6  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

was,  and  she  had  arranged  beforehand  to  herself  very 
pretty  little  comedies  of  life,  to  be  duly  enacted  in 
the  long  vacation,  in  which  James  was  to  appear  as 
the  suitor,  and  she,  not  too  soon  nor  with  too  much 
eagerness,  was  at  last  to  acknowledge  to  him  how 
much  he  was  to  her.  But  meanwhile  he  was  not  to 
be  too  presumptuous.  It  was  not  set  down  in  the 
cards  that  she  should  be  too  gracious  or  make  his 
way  too  easy.  When,  therefore,  he  brushed  by  her 
hastily,  on  entering  the  house,  with  a  flushed  cheek 
and  frowning  brow,  and  gave  no  glance  of  admiration 
at  the  pretty  toilet  she  had  found  time  to  make,  she 
was  slightly  indignant.  She  was  as  ignorant  of  the 
pang  which  went  like  an  arrow  through  his  heart  at 
the  sight  of  her  as  the  bobolink  which  whirrs  and 
chitters  and  tweedles  over  a  grave. 

She  turned  away  and  commenced  a  kitten-like  frolic 
with  Bill,  who  was  always  only  too-  happy  to  second 
any  of  her  motions,  and  readily  promised  that  after 
supper  she  would  go  with  him  a  walk  of  half  a  mile 
over  to  a  neighbor's,  where  was  a  corn-husking.  A 
great  golden  lamp  of  a  harvest  moon  was  already 
coming  up  in  the  fading  flush  of  the  evening  sky,  and 
she  *  promised  herself  much  amusement  in  watching 
the  result  of  her  maneuver  on  James. 

"  He'll  see  at  any  rate  that  I  am  not  waiting  his 
beck  and  call.  Next  time,  if  he  wants  my  company  he 
can  ask  for  it  in  season.  I'm  not  going  to  indulge 
him  in  sulks,  not  I.  These  college  fellows  worry  over 
books  till  they  hurt  their  digestion,  and  then  have  the 
blues  and  look  as  if  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end." 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  57 

And  Diana  went  to  the  looking-glass  and  rearranged 
the  spray  of  golden-rod  in  her  hair  and  nodded  at 
herself  defiantly,  and  then  turned  to  help  get  on  the 
supper. 

The  Pitkin  folk  that  night  sat  down  to  an  ample 
feast,  over  which  the  impending  Thanksgiving  shed  its 
hilarity.  There  was  not  only  the  inevitable  great 
pewter  platter,  scoured  to  silver  brightness,  in  the 
center  of  the  table,  and  piled  with  solid  masses  of 
boiled  beef,  pork,  cabbage  and  all  sorts  of  vegetables, 
and  the  equally  inevitable  smoking  loaf  of  rye  and 
Indian  bread,  to  accompany  the  pot  of  baked  pork 
and  beans,  but  there  were  specimens  of  all  the  newly- 
made  Thanksgiving  pies  filling  every  available  space 
on  the  table.  Diana  set  special  value  on  herself  as  a 
pie  artist,  and  she  had  taxed  her  ingenuity  this  year 
to  invent  new  varieties,  which  were  received  with 
bursts  of  applause  by  the  boys.  These  sat  down  to 
the  table  in  democratic  equality, — Biah  Carter  and 
Abner  with  all  the  sons  of  the  family,  old  and  young, 
each  eager,  hungry  and  noisy;  and  over  all,  with  moon 
light  calmness  and  steadiness,  Mary  Pitkin  ruled  and 
presided,  dispensing  to  each  his  portion  in  due  season, 
while  Diana,  restless  and  mischievous  as  a  sprite, 
seemed  to  be  possessed  with  an  elfin  spirit  of  drollery, 
venting  itself  in  sundry  little  tricks  and  antics  which 
drew  ready  laughs  from  the  boys  and  reproving  glances 
from  the  deacon.  For  the  deacon  was  that  night  in 
one  of  his  severest  humors.  As  Biah  Carter  after 
wards  remarked  of  that  night,  "You  could  feel  there 
was  thunder  in  the  air  somewhere  lound.  The  deacon 


58  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

had  got  on  about  his  longest  face,  and  when  the  dea 
con's  face  is  about  down  to  its  wust,  why,  it  would 
stop  a  robin  singin' — there  couldn't  nothin'  stan'  it." 

To-night  the  severely  cut  lines  of  his  face  had  even 
more  than  usual  of  haggard  sternness,  and  the  hand 
some  features  of  James  beside  him,  in  their  fixed 
gravity,  presented  that  singular  likeness  .which  often 
comes  out  between  father  and  son  in  seasons  of  mental 
emotion.  Diana  in  vain  sought  to  draw  a  laugh  from 
her  cousin.  In  pouring  his  home-brewed  beer  she 
contrived  to  spatter  him,  but  he  wiped  it  off  without  a 
smile,  and  let  pass  in  silence  some  arrows  of  raillery 
that  she  had  directed  at  his  somber  face. 

When  they  rose  from  table,  however,  he  followed  her 
into  the  pantry. 

"Diana,  will  you  take  a  walk  with  me  to-night?" 
he  said,  in  a  voice  husky  with  repressed  feeling. 

"To-night!  Why,  I  have  just  promised  Bill  to  go  with 
him  over  to  the  husking  at  the  Jenks's.  Why  don't 
you  go  with  us?  We're  going  to  have  lots  of -fun," 
she  added  with  an  innocent  air  of  not  perceiving  his 
gravity. 

"I  can't,"  he  said.  "Besides  I  wanted  to  walk  with 
you  alone.  I  had  something  special  I  wanted  to  say." 

"Bless  me,  how  you  frighten  one!  You  look  solemn 
as  a  hearse ;  but  I  promised  to  go  with  Bill  to-night, 
and  I  suspect  another  time  will  do  just  as  well.  What 
you  have  to  say  will  keep,  I  suppose,"  she  said  mis 
chievously. 

He  turned  away  quickly. 

"  I  should  really  like  to  know  what's  the  matter  with 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  59 

you  to-night,"  she  added,  but  as  she  spoke  he  went 
up-stairs  and  shut  the  door. 

"  He's  cross  to-night,"  was  Diana's  comment.  "  Well, 
he'll  have  to  get  over  his  pet.  I  sha'n't  mind  it! 

Up-stairs  in  his  room  James  began  the  work  of  put 
ting  up  the  bundle  with  which  he  was  to  go  forth  to 
seek  his  fortune.  There  stood  his  books,  silent  and 
dear  witnesses  of  the  world  of  hope  and  culture  and 
refined,  enjoyment  he  had  been  meaning  to  enter.  He 
was  to  know  them  no  more.  Their  mute  faces  seemed 
to  look  at  him  mournfully  as  parting  friends.  He 
rapidly  made  his  selection,  for  that  night  he  was  to 
be  off  in  time  to  reach  the  vessel  before  she  sailed, 
and  he  felt  even  glad  to  avoid  the  Thanksgiving  fes 
tivities  for  which  he  had  so  little  relish.  Diana's 
frolicsome  gaiety  seemed  heart-breaking  to  him,  on  the 
same  principle  that  the  poet  sings  : 

"  How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 
And  I  sae  weary,  fu1  o'  care  ?'' 

To  the  heart  struck  through  with  its  first  experiences 
of  real  suffering  all  nature  is  full  of  cruelty,  and  the 
young  and  light-hearted  are  a  large  part  of  nature. 

"She  has  no  feeling,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Well, 
there  is  one  reason  the  more  for  my  going.  She  won't 
break  her  heart  for  me ;  nobody  loves  me  but  mother, 
and  it's  for  her  sake  I  must  go.  She  mustn't  work 
herself  to  death  for  me." 

And  then  he  sat  down  in  the  window  to  write  a 
note  to  be  given  to  his  mother  after  he  had  sailed,  for 
he  could  not  trust  himself  to  tell  her  what  he  was 


60  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

about  to  do.  He  knew  that  she  would  try  to  persuade 
him  to  stay,  and  he  felt  faint-hearted  when  he  thought 
of  her.  "  She  would  sit  up  early  and  late,  and  work 
for  me  to  the  last  gasp,"  he  thought,  "but  father  was 
right.  It  is  selfish  of  rne  to  take  it,"  and  so  he  sat 
trying  to  fashion  his  parting  note  into  a  tone  of  cheer 
fulness. 

"My  dear  mother,"  he  wrote,  "this  will  come  to 
you  when  I  have  set  off  on  a  four  years'  voyage  round 
the  world.  Father  has  convinced  me  that  it's  time  for 
me  to  be  doing  something  for  myself;  and  I  couldn't 
get  a  school  to  keep — and,  after  all,  education  is  got 
other  ways  than  at  college.  It's  hard  to  go,  because 
I  love  home,  and  hard  because  you  will  miss  me — 
though  no  one  else  will.  But  father  may  rely  upon 
it,  I  will  not  be  a  burden  on  him  another  day.  Sink 
or  swim,  I  shall  never  come  back  till  I  have  enough 
to  do  for  myself,  and  you  too.  So  good  bye,  dear 
mother.  I  know  you  will  always  pray  for  me,  and 
wherever  I  am  I  shall  try  to  do  just  as  I  think  you 
would  want  me  to  do.  I  know  your  prayers  will  follow 
me,  and  I  shall  always  be  your  affectionate  son. 

"P.  S. — The  boys  may  have  those  chestnuts  and 
walnuts  in  my  room — and  in  my  drawer  there  is  a 
bit  of  ribbon  with  a  locket  on  it  I  was  going  to  give 
cousin  Diana.  Perhaps  she  won't  care  for  it,  though; 
but  if  she  does,  she  is  welcome  to  it — it  may  put  her 
in  mind  of  old  times." 

And  this  is  all  he  said,  with  bitterness  in  his  heart, 
as  he  leaned  on  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the 
great  yellow  moon  that  was  shining  so  bright  as  to 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  fa 

show  the  golden  hues  of  the  overhanging  elm  boughs 
and  the  scarlet  of  an  adjoining  maple. 

A  light  ripple  of  laughter  came  up  from  below,  and 
a  chestnut  thrown  up  struck  him  on  the  hand,  and 
he  saw  Diana  and  Bill  step  from  out  the  shadowy 
porch. 

"There's  a  chestnut  for  you,  Mr.  Owl,"  she  called, 
gaily,  "  if  you  will  stay  moping  up  there  !  Come,  now, 
it's  a  splendid  evening;  won't  you  come?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  sha'n't  be  missed,"  was  the 
reply. 

"That's  true  enough;  the  loss  is  your  own.  Good 
bye,  Mr.  Philosopher." 

"Good  bye,  Diana." 

Something  in  the  tone  struck  strangely  through  her 
heart.  It  was  the  voice  of  what  Diana  never  had  felt 
yet— deep  suffering— and  she  gave  a  little  shiver. 

"What  an  awfully  solemn  voice  James  has  some 
times,"  she  said;  and  then  added,  with  a  laugh,  "it 
would  make  his  fortune  as  a  Methodist  minister." 

The  sound  of  the  light  laugh  and  little  snatches 
and  echoes  of  gay  talk  came  back  like  heartless  elves 
to  mock  Jim's  sorrow. 

"So  much  for  her"  he  said,  and  turned  to  go  and 
look  for  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  V.      . 

MOTHER    AND    SON. 

HE  knew  where  he  should  find  her.  There  was  a 
little,  low  work-room  adjoining  the  kitchen  that 
was  his  mother's  sanctum.  There  stood  her  work- 
basket — there  were  always  piles  and  piles  of  work, 
begun  or  finished;  and  there  also  her  few  books  at 
hand,  to  be  glanced  into  in  rare  snatches  of  leisure  in 
her  busy  life.  « 

The  old  times  New  England  house  mother  was  not 
a  mere  unreflective  drudge  of  domestic  toil.  She  was 
a  reader  and  a  thinker,  keenly  appreciative  in  intel 
lectual  regions.  The  literature  of  that  day  in  New 
England  was  sparse  ;  but  whatever  there  was,  whether 
in  this  country  or  in  England,  that  was  noteworthy, 
was  matter  of  keen  interest,  and  Mrs.  Pitkin's  small 
library  was  very  dear  to  her.  No  nun  in  a  convent 
under  vows  of  abstinence  ever  practiced  more  rigorous 
self-denial  than  she  did  in  the  restraints  and  govern 
ment  of  intellectual  tastes  and  desires.  Her  son  was 
dear  to  her  as  the  fulfillment  and  expression  of  her 
unsatisfied  craving  for  knowledge,  the  possessor  of 
those  fair  fields  of  thought  which  duty  forbade  her  to 
explore. 

James  stood  and  looked  in  at  the  window,  and  saw 
her  sorting  and  arranging  the  family  mending,  busy 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  63 

over  piles  of  stockings  and  shirts,  while  on  the  table 
beside  her  lay  her  open  Bible,  and  she  was  singing  to 
herself,  in  a  low,  sweet  undertone,  one  of  the  favorite 
minor-keyed  melodies  of  those  days: 

"  O  God,  our  help  in  ages  past, 

Our  hope  for  years  to  come, 
Our  shelter  from  the  stormy  blast 
And  our  eternal  home  !" 

An  indescribable  feeling,  blended  of  pity  and  rever 
ence,  swelled  in  his  heart  as  he  looked  at  her  and 
marked  the  whitening  hair,  the  thin  worn  little  hands 
so  busy  with  their  love  work,  and  thought  of  all  the 
bearing  and  forbearing,  the  waiting,  the  watching,  the 
long-suffering  that  had  made  up  her  life  for  so  many 
years.  The  very  look  of  exquisite  calm  and  resolved 
strength  in  her  patient  eyes  and  in  the  gentle  Ifties  of 
her  face  had  something  that  seemed  to  him  sad  and 
awful — as  the  purely  spiritual  always  looks  to  the  more 
animal  nature.  With  his  blood  bounding  and  tingling 
in  his  veins,  his  strong  arms  pulsating  with  life,  and 
his  heart  full  of  a  man's  vigor  and  resolve,  his  mother's 
life  seemed  to  him  to  be  one  of  weariness  and 
drudgery,  of  constant,  unceasing  self-abnegation.  Calm 
he  knew  she  was,  always  sustained,  never  faltering; 
but  her  victory  was  one  which,  like  the  spiritual  sweet 
ness  in  the  face  of  the  dying,  had  something  of  sad 
ness  for  the  living  heart. 

He  opened  the  door  and  came  in,  sat  down  by  her 
on  the  floor,  and  laid  his  head  in  her  lap. 

"  Mother,  you  never  rest ;  you  never  stop  working." 

9tl  Oh,  no!"   she  said  gaily,  "I'm  just  going  to  stop 


64  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

now.  I  had  only  a  few  last  things  I  wanted  to  get 
done." 

"  Mother,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  you  ;  your  life  is 
too  hard.  We  all  have  our  amusements,  our  rests,  our 
changes ;  your  work  is  never  done ;  you  are  worn  out, 
and  get  no  time  to  read,  no  time  for  anything  but 
drudgery." 

"Don't  say  drudgery,  my  boy — work  done  for  those 
we  love  never  is  drudgery.  I'm  so  happy  to  have  you 
all  around  me  I  never  feel  it." 

"  But,  mother,  you  .are  not  strong,  and  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  hold  out  to  do  all  you  do." 

"Welf,"  she  said  simply,  "when  my  strength  is  all 
gone  I  ask  God  for  more,  and  he  always  gives  it. 
'They  that  wait  on  the  Lord  shall  renew  their 
strength.' "  And  her  hand  involuntarily  fell  on  the 
open  Bible. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  he  said,  following  her  hand  with 
his  eyes — while  "  Mother,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to 
give  me  your  Bible  and  take  mine.  I  think  yours 
would  do  me  more  good." 

There  was  a  little  bright  flush  and  a  pleased  smile 
on  his  mother's  face — 

"Certainly,  my  boy,  I  will." 

"I  see  you  have  marked  your  favorite  places,"  he 
added.  "  It  will  seem  like  hearing  you  speak  to  read 
them." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  she  added,  taking  up  the  Bible 
and  kissing  his  forehead  as  she  put  it  into  his  hands. 

There  was  a^struggle  in  his  heart  how  to  say  fare 
well  without  saying  it — without  letting  her  know  that 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  65 

he  was  going  to  leave  her.  He  clasped  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  if  I  ever  get  into  heaven  it 
will  be  through  you." 

"  Don't  say  that,  my  son — it  must  be  through  a 
better  Friend  than  I  am — who  loves  you  more  than  I 
do.  I  have  not  died  for  you — He  did." 

"  Oh,  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him,  then. 
You  I  can  see — Him  I  cannot." 

His  mother  looked  at  him  with  a  face  full  of  ra 
diance,  pity,  and  hope. 

"I  feel  sure  you  will"  she  said.  "You  are  con 
secrated,"  she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  laying  her  hand 
on  his  head. 

"Amen,"  said  James,  in  a  reverential  tone.  He  felt 
that  she  was  at  that  moment — as  she  often  was — 
silently  speaking  to  One  invisible  of  and  for  him,  and 
the  sense  of  it  stole  over  him  like  a  benediction. 
There  was  a  .pause  of  tender  silence  for  many  min 
utes. 

"Well,  I  must  not  keep  you  up  any  longer,  mother 
dear — it's  time  you  were  resting.  Good-night."  And 
with  a  long  embrace  and  kiss  they  separated.  He  had 
yet  fifteen  miles  to  walk  to  reach  the  midnight  stage 
that  was  to  convey  him  to  Salem. 

As  he  was  starting  from  the  house  with  his  bundle 
in  his  hand,  the  sound  of  a  gay  laugh  came  through 
the  distant  shrubbery.  It  was  Diana  and  Bill  returning 
from  the  husking.  Hastily  he  concealed  himself  behind 
a  clump  of  old  lilac. bushes  till  they  emerged  into  the 
moonlight  and  passed  into  the  house.  Diana  was  in 


66  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

one  of  those  paroxysms  of  young  girl  frolic  which  are 
the  effervescence  of  young,  healthy  blood,  as  natural  as 
the  gyrations  of  a  bobolink  on  a  clover  head.  James 
was  thinking  of  dark  nights  and  stormy  seas,  years  of 
exile,  mother's  sorrows,  home  perhaps  never  to  be  seen 
more,  and  the  laugh  jarred  on  him  like  a  terrible 
discord.  He  watched  her  into  the  house,  turned,  and 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

GONE  TO    SEA. 

A  LITTLE  way  on  in  his  moonlight  walk  James's 
ears    were    saluted    by   the    sound    of   some   one 
whistling  and  crackling  through    the    bushes,  and  soon 
Biah   Carter  emerged  into  the   moonlight,  having  been 
out   to    the   same   husking  where    Diana  and  Bill   had 
been  enjoying  themselves.      The  sight  of  him  resolved 
a  doubt  which  had  been  agitating  James's  mind.     The 
note  to  his  mother  which  was  to  explain  his  absence 
and  the  reasons  for  it  was  still  in  his  coat-pocket,  and 
he  had  designed  sending  it  back  by  some  messenger  at 
the   tavern   where    he    took    the    midnight    stage;    but 
here  was  a  more  trusty  party.     It  involved,  to  be  sure, 
the  necessity  of  taking  Biah  into  his  confidence.     James 
was  well  aware  that  to    tell  that   acute  individual   the 
least  particle  of  a  story  was  like  starting  a  gimlet  in  a 
pine  board— there  was  no  stop  till  it  had  gone  through. 
So  he   told   him  in  brief  that   a  good  berth  had  been 
offered  to  him  on   the  Eastern  Star,   and  he  meant  to 
take   it   to    relieve   his    father    of    the    pressure  of    his 
education. 

"Wai  naow— you  don't  say  so,"  was  Biah's  commen 
tary.  "Wai,  yis,  'tis  hard  sleddin'  for  the  deacon— 
drefTul  hard  sleddin.'  Wai,  naow,  s'pose  you're  disap- 
p'inted— shouldn't  wonder— jes'  so.  Eddication's  a 
good  thing,  but  'taint  the  only  thing  naow ;  folks  larns 


68  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

a  sight  rubbin'  round  the  world— and  then  they  make 
money.  Jes'  see,  there's  Cap'n  Stebbins  and  Cap'n 
Andrews  and  Cap'n  Merryweather — all  livin'  on  good 
farms,  with  good,  nice  houses,  all  got  goin'  to  sen. 
Expect  Mis'  Pitkin'll  take  it  sort  o'  hard,  she's  so  sot 
on  you  ;  but  she's  allers  sayin'  things  is  for  the  best, 
and  maybe  she'll  come  to  think  so  'bout  this — folks 
gen'ally  does  when  they  can't  help  themselves.  Wai, 
yis,  naow — goin'  to  walk  to  the  cross-road  tavern?  better 
not.  Jest  wait  a  minit  and  I'll  hitch  up  and  take  ye 
over. 

"Thank  you,  Biah,  but  I  can't  stop,  and  I'd  rather 
walk,  so  I  won't  trouble  you." 

"Wai,  look  here — don't  ye  want  a  sort  o'  nest-egg? 
I've  got  fifty  silver  dollars  laid  up:  you  take  it  on 
venture  and  give  me  half  what  it  brings." 

"Thank  you,  Biah.  If  you'll  trust  me  with  it  I'll 
hope  to  do  something  for  us  both." 

Biah  went  into  the  house,  and  after  some  fumbling 
brought  out  a  canvas  bag,  which  he  put  into  James's 
hand. 

"Wanted  to  go  to  sea  confoundedly  myself,  but  there's 
Mariar  Jane — she  won't  hear  on't,  and  turns  on  the 
water-works  if  I  peep  a  single  word.  Farmin's  drefful 
slow,  but  when  a  feller's  got  a  gal  he's  got  a  cap'n  ; 
he  has  to  mind  orders.  So  you  jest  trade  and  we'll 
go  sheers.  I  think  cbnsid'able  of  you,  and  I  expect 
you'll  make  it  go  as  fur  as  anybody." 

"I'll  try  my  best,  you  may  believe,  Biah,"  said  James, 
shaking  the  hard  hand  heartily,  as  he  turned  on  his 
way  towards  the  cross-roads  tavern. 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  69 

The  whole  village  of  Maplewood  on  Thanksgiving 
Day  morning  was  possessed  of  the  fact  that  James 
Pitkin  had  gone  off  to  sea  in  the  Eastern  Star,  for 
Biah  had  felt  all  the  sense  of  importance  which  the 
possession  of  a  startling  piece  of  intelligence  gives  to 
one,  and  took  occasion  to  call  at  the  tavern  and  store 
on  his  way  up  and  make  the  most  of  his  information, 
so  that  by  the  time  the  bell  rang  for  service  the  news 
might  be  said  to  be  everywhere.  The  minister's  gen 
eral  custom  on  Thanksgiving  Day  was  to  get  off  a 
political  sermon  reviewing  the  State  of  New  England, 
the  United  States  of  America,  and  Europe,  Asia,  and 
Africa ;  but  it  may  be  doubted  if  all  the  affairs  of  all 
these  continents  produced  as  much  sensation  among 
the  girls  in  the  singers'  seat  that  day  as  did  the  news 
that  James  Pitkin  had  gone  to  sea  on  a  four  years' 
voyage.  Curious  eyes  were  cast  on  Diana  Pitkin,  and 
many  were  the  whispers  and  speculations  as  to  the 
part  she  might  have  had  in  the  move;  and  certainly 
she  looked  paler  and  graver  than  usual,  and  some 
thought  they  could  detect  traces  of  tears  on  her  cheeks. 
Some  noticed  in  the  tones  of  her  voice  that  day,  as 
they  rose  in  the  soprano,  a  tremor  and  pathos  never 
remarked  before — the  unconscious  utterance  of  a  new 
sense  of  sorrow,  awakened  in  a  soul  that  up  to  this 
time  had  never  known  a  grief. 

For  the  letter  had  fallen  on  the  heads  of  the  Pitkin 
household  like  a  thunderbolt.  Biah  came  in  to  break 
fast  and  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Pitkin,  saying  that  James  had 
handed  him  that  last  night,  on  his  way  over  to  take 
the  midnight  stage  to  Salem,  where  he  was  going  to 


7o  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

sail  on  the  Eastern  Star  to-day — no  doubt  he's  off  to 
sea  by  this  time.  A  confused  sound  of  exclamations 
went  up  around  the  table,  while  Mrs.  Pitkin,  pale  and 
calm,  read  the  letter  and  then  passed  it  to  her  husband 
without  a  word.  The  bright,  fixed  color  in  Diana's 
face  had  meanwhile  been  slowly  ebbing  away,  till,  with 
cheeks  and  lips  pale  as  ashes,  she  hastily  rose  and  left 
the  table  and  went  to  her  room.  A  strange,  new,  ter 
rible  pain — a  sensation  like  being  choked  or  smothered 
— a  rush  of  mixed  emotions — a  fearful  sense  of  some 
inexorable,  unalterable  crisis  having  come  of  her  girlish 
folly — overwhelmed  her.  Again  she  remembered  the 
deep  tones  of  his  good-by,  and  how  she  had  only 
mocked  at  his  emotion.  She  sat  down  and  leaned  her 
head  on  her  hands  in  a  tearless,  confused  sorrow. 

Deacon  Pitkin  was  at  first  more  shocked  and  over 
whelmed  than  his  wife.  His  yesterday's  talk  with 
James  had  no  such  serious  purpose.  It  had  been  only 
the  escape-valve  for  his  hypochondriac  forebodings  of 
the  future,  and  nothing  was  farther  from  his  thoughts 
than  having  it  bear  fruit  in  any  such  decisive  move 
ment  on  the  part  of  his  son.  In  fact,  he  secretly  was 
proud  of  his  talents  and  his  scholarship,  and  had  set 
his  heart  on  his  going  through  college,  and  had  no 
more  serious  purpose  in  what  he  said  the  day  before 
than  the  general  one  of  making  his  son  feel  the  diffi 
culties  and  straits  he  was  put  to  for  him.  Young  men 
were  tempted  at  college  to  be  too  expensive,  he  thought, 
and  to  forget  what  it  cost  their  parents  at  home.  In 
short,  the  whole  thing  had  been  merely  the  passing 
off  of  a  paroxysm  of  hypochondria,  and  he  had  already 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  71 

begun  to  be  satisfied  that  he  should  raise  his  interest 
money  that  year  without  material  difficulty.  The  letter 
showed  him  too  keenly  the  depth  of  the  suffering  he 
had  inflicted  on  his  son,  and  when  he  had  read  it  he 
cast  a  sort  of  helpless,  questioning  look  on  his  wife, 
and  said,  after  an  interval  of  silence: 
"Well,  mother!" 

There  was  something  quite  pathetic  in  the  appealing 
look  and  voice. 

"  Well,   father,"    she    answered    in    subdued    tones  ; 
"all  we  can  do  now  is  to  Cleave  it." 
LEAVE  IT  ! 

Those  were  words  often  in  that  woman's  mouth,  and 
they  expressed  that  habit  of  her  life  which  made  her 
victorious  over  all  troubles,  that  habit  of  trust  in  the 
Infinite  Will  that  actually  could  and  did  leave  every 
accomplished  event  in  His  hand,  without  murmur  and 
without  conflict. 

If  there  was  any  one  thing  in  her  uniformly  self- 
denied  life  that  had  been  a  personal  ambition  and  a 
personal  desire,  it  had  been  that  her  son  should  have 
a  college  education.  It  was  the  center  of  her  earthly 
wishes,  hopes  and  efforts.  That  wish  had  been  cut  off 
in  a  moment,  that  hope  had  sunk  under  her  feet,  and 
now  only  remained  to  her  the  task  of  comforting  the 
undisciplined  soul  whose  unguided  utterances  had 
wrought  the  mischief.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that, 
wounded  by  a  loving  hand  in  this  dark  struggle  of  life, 
she  had  suppressed  the  pain  of  her  own  hurt  that  he 
that  had  wounded  her  might  the  better  forgive  him 
self. 


72  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

"Dear  father,"  she  said  to  him,  when  over  and  over 
he  blamed  himself  for  his  yesterday's  harsh  words  to 
his  son,  " don't  worry  about  it  now;  you  didn't  mean 
it.  James  is  a  good  boy,  and  he'll  see  it  right  at  last; 
and  he  is  in  God's  hands,  and  we  must  leave  him  there. 
He  overrules  all." 

When  Mrs.  Pitkin  turned  from  her  husband  she 
sought  Diana  in  her  room. 

"Oh,  cousin!  cousin  !"  said  the  girl,  throwing  herself 
into  her  arms,  "fs  this  true?  Is  James  gone?  Can't 
we  do  any  thing?  Can't  we  get  him  back?  I've  been 
thinking  it  over.  Oh,  if  the  ship  wouldn't  sail!  and 
I'd  go  to  Salem  and  beg  him  to  come  back,  on  my 
knees.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  known  yesterday  !  Oh, 
cousin,  cousin  !  he  wanted  to  talk  with  me,  and  I 
wouldn't  hear  him  ! — oh,  if  I  only  had,  I  could  have 
persuaded  him  out  of  it!  Oh,  why  didn't  I  know?" 

"There,  there,  dear  child  !  We  must  accept  it  just 
as  it  is,  now  that  it  is  done.  Don't  feel  so.  We  must 
try  to  look  at  the  good."  ^ 

"  Oh,  show  me  that  letter,"  said  Diana ;  and  Mrs. 
Pitkin,  hoping  to  tranquilize  her,  gave  her  James's 
note.  "He  thinks  I  don't  care  for  him,"  she  said, 
reading  it  hastily.  "  Well,  I  don't  wonder !  But  I  do 
care !  I  love  him  better  than  anybody  or  anything 
under  the  sun,  and  I  never  will  forget  him ;  he's  a 
brave,  noble,  good  man,  and  I  shall  love  him  as  long 
as  I  live — I  don't  care  who  knows  it!  Give  me  that 
locket,  cousin,  and  write  to  him  that  I  shall  wear  it  to 
my  grave." 

"  Dear  child,  there  is  no  writing  to  him." 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  73 

"  Oh,  dear  !  that's  the  worst.  Oh,  that  horrid,  horrid 
sea!  It's  like  death — you  don't  know  where  they  are, 
and  you  can't  hear  from  them — and  a  four  years' 
voyage  !  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear!" 

"  Don't,  dear  child,  don't ;  you  distress  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Pitkin. 

"Yes,  that's  just  like  me,"  said  Diana,  wiping  her 
eyes.  "Here  I  am  thinking  only  of  myself,  and  you 
that  have  had  your  heart  broken  are  trying  to  comfort 
me,  and  trying  to  comfort  Cousin  Silas.  We  have  both 
of  us  scolded  and  flouted  him  away,  and  now  you,  who 
surfer  the  most  of  either  of  us,  spend  your  breath  to 
comfort  us.  It's  just  like  you.  But,  cousin,  I'll  try  to 
be  good  and  comfort  you.  I'll  try  to  be  a  daughter 
to  you.  You  need  somebody  to  think  of  you,  for  you 
never  think  of  yourself.  Let's  go  in  his  room,"  she 
said,  and  taking  the  mother  by  the  hand  they  crossed 
to  the  empty  room.  There  was  his  writing-table,  there 
his  forsaken  books,  his  papers,  some  of  his  clothes 
hanging  in  his  closet.  Mrs.  Pitkin,  opening  a  drawer, 
took  out  a  locket  hung  upon  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon, 
where  there  were  two  locks  of  hair,  one  of  which 
Diana  recognized  as  her  own,  and  one  of  James's.  She 
hastily  hung  it  about  her  neck  and  concealed  it  in  her 
bosom,  laying  her  hand  hard  upon  it,  as  if  she  would 
still  the  beatings  of  her  heart. 

"  It  seems  like  a  death,"  she  said.  "  Don't  you  think 
the  ocean  is  like  death — wide,  dark,  stormy,  unknown? 

We   cannot   speak   to  or   hear   from   them  that  are  on 
it." 

"  But  people  can  and  do  come  back  from  the  sea," 


74  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

said  the  mother,  soothingly.  "  I  trust,  in  God's  own 
time,  we  shall  see  James  back." 

"  But  what  if  we  never  should  ?  Oh,  cousin  !  I  can't 
help  thinking  of  that.  There  was  Michael  Davis, — 
you  know — the  ship  was  never  heard  from." 

"  Well,"  said  the  mother,  after  a  moment's  pause  and 
a  choking  down  of  some  rising  emotion,  and  turning 
to  a  table  on  which  lay  a  Bible,  she  opened  and  read : 
"  If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  morning  and  dwell  in  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  sea,  even  there  shall  Thy  hand 
lead  me,  and  Thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me." 

The  THEE  in  this  psalm  was  not  to  her  a  name,  a 
shadow,  a  cipher,  to  designate  the  unknowable — it  stood 
for  the  inseparable  Heart-friend — the  Father  seeing  in 
secret,  on  whose  bosom  all  her  tears  of  sorrow  had 
been  shed,  the  Comforter  and  Guide  forever  dwelling 
in  her  soul,  and  giving  peace  where  the  world  gave 
only  trouble. 

Diana  beheld  her  face  as  it  had  been  the  face  of 
an  angel.  She  kissed  her,  and  turned  away  in  silence. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THANKSGIVING    AGAIN. 

SEVEN  years  had  passed  and  once  more  the 
Thanksgiving  tide  was  in  Mapleton.  This  year 
it  had  come  cold  and  frosty.  Chill  driving  autumn 
storms  had  stripped  the  painted  glories  from  the  trees, 
and  remorseless  frosts  had  chased  the  hardy  ranks  of 
the  asters  and  golden-rods  back  and  back  till  scarce 
a  blossom  could  be  found  in  the  deepest  and  most 
sequestered  spots.  The  great  elm  over  the  Pitkin 
farm-house  had  been  stripped  of  its  golden  glory,  and 
now  rose  against  the  yellow  evening  sky,  with  its  in 
finite  delicacies  of  net  work  and  tracery,  in  their  way 
quite  as  beautiful  as  the  full  pomp  of  summer  foliage. 
The  air  without  was  keen  and  frosty,  and  the  knotted 
twigs  of  the  branches  knocked  against  the  roof  and 
rattled  and  ticked  against  the  upper  window  panes 
as  the  chill  evening  wind  swept  through  them. 

Seven  long  years  had  passed  since  James  sailed. 
Years  of  watching,  of  waiting,  of  cheerful  patience,  at 
first,  and  at  last  of  resigned  sorrow.  Once  they  heard 
from  James,  at  the  first  port  where  the  ship  stopped. 
It  was  a  letter  dear  to  his  mother's  heart,  manly, 
resigned  and  Christian;  expressing  full  purpose  to 
work  with  God  in  whatever  calling  he  should  labor, 


76  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

and  cheerful  hopes  of  the  future.  Then  came  a  long, 
long  silence,  and  then  tidings  that  the  Eastern  Star 
had  been  wrecked  on  a  reef  in  the  Indian  ocean ! 
The  mother  had  given  back  her  treasure  into  the 
same  beloved  hands  whence  she  first  received  him.  "  I 
gave  him  to  God,  and  God  took  him,"  she  said.  "  I 
shall  have  him  again  in  God's  time."  This  was  how 
she  settled  the  whole  matter  with  herself.  Diana  had 
mourned  with  all  the  vehement  intensity  of  her  being, 
but  out  of  the  deep  baptism  of  sorrow  she  had 
emerged  with  a  new  and  nobler  nature.  The  vain, 
trifling,  laughing  Undine  had  received  a  soul  and  was 
a  true  woman.  She  devoted  herself  to  James's  mother 
with  an  utter  self-sacrificing  devotion,  resolved  as  far 
as  in  her  lay  to  be  both  son  and  daughter  to  her. 
She  read,  and  studied,  and  fitted  herself  as  a  teacher 
in  a  neighboring  academy,  and  persisted  in  claiming 
the  right  of  a  daughter  to  place  all  the  amount  of 
her  earnings  in  the  family  purse. 

And  this  year  there  was  special  need.  With  all  his 
care,  with  all  his  hard  work  and  that  of  his  family, 
Deacon  Silas  never  had  been  able  to  raise  money  to 
annihilate  the  debt  upon  the  farm. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  perfect  fatality  about  it.  Let 
them  all  make  what  exertions  they  might,  just  as  they 
were  hoping  for  a  sum  that  should  exceed  the  interest 
and  begin  the  work  of  settling  the  principal  would 
come  some  loss  that  would  throw  them  all  back.  One 
year  their  barn  was  burned  just  as  they  had  housed 
their  hay.  On  another  a  valuable  horse  died,  and  then 
there  were  fits  of  sickness  among  the  children,  and  poor 


DEACON  PIT  KIN'S  FARM.  77 

crops  in  the  field,  and  low  prices  in  the  market  ;  in 
short,  as  Biah  remarked,  "  The  deacon's  luck  did  seem 
to  be  a  sort  o'  streaky,  for  do  what  you  might  there's 
always  suthin'  to  put  him  back."  As  the  younger  boys 
grew  up  the  deacon  had  ceased  to  hire  help,  and  Biah 
had  transferred  his  services  to  Squire  Jones,  a  rich 
landholder  in  the  neighborhood,  who  wanted  some  one 
to  overlook  his  place.  The  increased  wages  had  en 
abled  him  to  give  a  home  to  Maria  Jane  and  a  start 
in  life  to  two  or  three  sturdy  little  American  citizens 
who  played  around  his  house  door.  Nevertheless,  Biah 
never  lost  sight  of  the  "  deacon's  folks  "  in  his  multi 
farious  cares,  and  never  missed  an  opportunity  either 
of  doing  them  a  good  turn  or  of  picking  up  any  stray 
item  of  domestic  news  as  to  how  matters  were  going 
on  in  that  interior.  He  had  privately  broached  the 
theory  to  Miss  Briskett,  "that  arter  all  it  was  James 
that  Diany  (he  always  pronounced  all  names  as  if  they 
ended  in  y)  was  sot  on,  and  that  she  took  it  so  hard, 
his  goin'  off,  that  it  did  beat  all  !  Seemed  to  make 
another  gal  of  her;  he  shouldn't  wonder  if  she'd  come 
out  and  jine  the  church."  And  Diana  not  long  after 
unconsciously  fulfilled  Biah's  predictions. 

Of  late  Biah's  good  offices  had  been  in  special  requi 
sition,  as  the  deacon  had  been  for  nearly  a  month  on 
a  sick  bed  with  one  of  those  interminable  attacks  of 
typhus  fever  which  used  to  prevail  in  old  times,  when 
the  doctor  did  everything  he  could  to  make  it  certain 
that  a  man  once  brought  down  with  sickness  never 
should  rise  again. 

But  Silas  Pitkin  had  a  constitution  derived  through 


78  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

an  indefinite  distance  fiom  a  temperate,  hard-working, 
godly  ancestry,  and  so  withstood  both  death  and  the 
doctor,  and  was  alive  and  in  a  convalescent  state, 
which  gave  hope  of  his  being  able  to  carve  the  turkey 
at  his  Thanksgiving  dinner. 

The  evening  sunlight  was  just  fading  out  of  the 
little  "  keeping-room,"  adjoining  the  bed-room,  where 
the  convalescent  now  was  able  to  sit  up  most  of  the 
day.  A  cot  bed  had  been  placed  there,  designed  for 
him  to  lie  down  upon  in  intervals  of  fatigue.  At 
present,  however,  he  was  sitting  in  his  arm-chair, 
complacently  watching  the  blaze  of  the  hickory  fire, 
or  following  placidly  the  motions  of  his  wife's  knitting- 
needles. 

There  was  an  air  of  calmness  and  repose  on  his 
thin,  worn  features  that  never  was  there  in  days  of 
old :  the  haggard,  anxious  lines  had  been  smoothed 
away,  and  that  spiritual  expression  which  sickness  and 
sorrow  sometimes  develops  on  the  human  face  reigned 
in  its  place.  It  was  the  "  clear  shining  after  rain." 

"Wife,"  he  said,  "  read  me  something  I  can't  quite 
remember  out  of  the  Bible.  It's  in  the  eighth  of 
Deuteronomy,  the  second  verse." 

Mrs.  Pitkin  opened  the  big  family  Bible  on  the 
stand,  and  read,  "  And  thou  shalt  remember  all  the 
way  in  which  the  Lord  thy  God  hath  led  thee  these 
forty  y*ea/s  in  the  wilderness,  to  humble  thee  and  to 
prove  thee  and  to  know  what  is  in  thy  heart,  and 
whether  thou  wouldst  keep  his  commandments  or  no. 
And  he  humbled  thee,  and  suffered  thee  to  hunger, 
and  fed  thee  with  manna,  which  thou  knewest  not, 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  79 

neither  did  thy  fathers  know,  that  he  might  make 
thee  know  that  man  doth  not  live  by  bread  alone, 
but  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth 
of  the  Lord  doth  man  live." 

"There,  that's  it,"  interrupted  the  deacon.  "That's 
what  I've  been  thinking  of  as  I've  lain  here  sick  and 
helpless,  I've  fought  hard  to  keep  things  straight  and 
clear  the  farm,  but  it's  pleased  the  Lord  to  bring  me 
low.  I've  had  to  lie  still  and  leave  all  in  his 
hands/' 

"And  where  better  could  you  leave  all?"  said  his 
wife,  with  a  radiant  smile. 

"Well,  just  so.  I've  been  saying,  'Here  I  am, 
Lord;  do  with  me  as  seemeth  to  thee  good,'  and  I  feel 
a  great  quiet  now.  I  think  it's  doubtful  if  we  make 
up  the  interest  this  year.  I  don't  know  what  Bill 
may  get  for  the  hay:  but  I  don't  see  much  prospect 
of  raisin'  on't;  and  yet  I  don't  worry.  Even  if  it's 
the  Lord's  will  to  have  the  place  sold  up  and  we  be 
turned  out  in  our  old  age,  I  don't  seem  to  worry 
about  it.  His  will  be  done." 

There  was  a  sound  of  rattling  wheels  at  this  mo 
ment,  and  anon  there  came  a  brush  and  nutter  of 
garments,  and  Diana  rushed  in,  all  breezy  with  the 
freshness  of  out-door  air,  and  caught  Mrs.  Pitkin  in 
her  arms  and  kissed  her  first  and  then  the  deacon 
with  effusion. 

"Here  I  come  for  Thanksgiving,"  she  said,  in  a 
rich,  clear  tone,  "and  here,"  she  added,  drawing  a 
roll  of  bills  from  her  bosom,  and  putting  it  into  the 
deacon's  hand,  "here's  the  interest  money  for  this 


8o  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

year.     I    got   it  all  myself,  because  I  wanted  to  show 
you  I   could  be  good  for  something." 

"Thank  you, -dear  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Pitkin.  "I 
felt  sure  some  way  would  be  found  and  now  I  see 
what."  She  added,  kissing  Diana  and  patting  her 
rosy  cheek,  "a  very  pleasant,  pretty  way  it  is,  too." 

"  I  was  afraid  that  Uncle  Silas  would  worry  and 
put  himself  back  again  about  the  interest  money,"  said 
Diana. 

"Well,  daughter,"  said  the  Deacon,  "it's  a  pity  we 
should  go  through  all  we  do  in  this  world  and  not 
learn  anything  by  it.  I  hope  the  Lord  has  taught 
me  not  to  worry,  but  just  do  my  best  and  leave  myself 
and  everything  else  in  his  hands.  We  can't  help 
ourselves — we  can't  make  one  hair  white  or  black. 
Why  should  we  wear  our  lives  out  fretting?  If  I'd  a 
known  that  years  ago  it  would  a  been  better  for  us 
all." 

"  Never  mind,  father,  you  know  it  now,"  said  his 
wife,  with  a  face  serene  as  a  star.  In  this  last  gift  of 
quietude  of  soul  to  her  husband  she  recognized  the 
answer  to  her  prayers  of  years. 

"Well  now,"  said  Diana,  running  to  the  window, 
"  I  should  like  to  know  what  Biah  Carter  is  coming 
here  about." 

"  Oh,  Biah's  been  very  kind  to  us  in  this  sickness," 
said  Mrs.  Pitkin,  as  Biah's  feet  resounded  on  the 
scraper. 

"  Good  evenin,  Deacon,"  said  Biah,  entering,  "  Good 
evenin',  Mrs.  Pitkin.  Sarvant,  ma'am,"  to  Diana — 
"how  ye  all  gettin'  on?" 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  81 

"  Nicely,  Biah— well  as  can  be,"  said  Mrs.  Pitkin. 
"  Wai,  you  see  I  was  up  to  the  store  with  some  o' 
Squire  Jones's  bell  flowers.  Sim  Coan  he  said  he 
wanted  some  to  sell,  and  so  I  took  up  a  couple  o' 
barrels,  and  I  see  the  darndest  big  letter  there  for  the 
Deacon.  Miss  Briskett  she  was  in,  lookin'  at  it,  and 
so  was  Deacon  Simson's  wife ;  she  come  in  arter  some 
cinnamon  sticks.  Wai,  and  they  all  looked  at  it  and 
talked  it  over,  and  couldn't  none  o'  'em  for  their  lives 
think  what  it's  all  about,  it  was  sich  an  almighty 
thick  letter,"  said  Biah,  drawing  out  a  long,  legal-look 
ing  envelope  and  putting  it  in  the  Deacon's,  hands. 

"I  hope  there  isn't  bad  news  in  it,"  said  Silas  Pit- 
kin,  the  color  flushing  apprehensively  in  his  pale 
cheeks  as  he  felt  for  his  spectacles. 

There  was  an  agitated,  silent  pause  while  he  broke 
the  seals  and  took  out  two  documents.  One  was  the 
mortgage  on  his  farm  and  the  other  a  receipt 'in  full 
for  the  money  owed  on  it !  The  Deacon  turned  the 
papers  to  and  fro,  gazed  on  them  with  a  dazed,  un 
certain  air  and  then  said  : 

"  Why,  mother,  do  look !  Is  this  so  ?  Do  I  read 
it  right?" 

"  Certainly,  you  do,"  said  Diana,  reading  over  his 
shoulder.  "Somebody's  paid  that  debt,  uncle!" 

"Thank  God!"  said  Mrs.  Pitkin,  softly;  "He  has 
done  it." 

"Wai,  I  swow  !"  said  Biah,  after  having  turned  the 
paper  in  his  hands,  "  if  this  'ere  don't  beat  all  \ 
There's  old  Squire  Norcross's  name  on't.  It's  the 
receipt,  full  and  square.  What's  come  over  the  old 


S2  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

crittur?  He  must  a'  got  religion  in  his  old  age;  but 
if  grace  made  him  do  that,  grace  has  done  a  tough 
job,  that's  all ;  but  it's  done  anyhow !  and  that's  all 
you  need  to  care  about.  Wai,  wal,  I  must  git  along 
hum — Mariar  Jane'll  be  wonderin'  where  I  be.  Good 
night,  all  on  ye!"  and  Biah's  retreating  wagon  wheels 
were  off  in  the  distance,  rattling  furiously,  for/  not 
withstanding  Maria  Jane's  wondering,  Biah  was  re 
solved  not  to  let  an  hour  slip  by  without  declaring 
the  wonderful  tidings  at  the  store. 

The  Pitkin  family  were  seated  at  supper  in  the  big 
kitchen,  all  jubilunt  over  the  recent  news.  The  father, 
radiant  with  the  pleasantest  excitement,  had  for  the 
first  time  come  out  to  take  his  place  at  the  family 
board.  In  the  seven  years  since  the  beginning  of 
our  story  the  Pitkin  boys  had  been  growing  apace, 
and  now  surrounded  the  table  quite  an  army  of  rosy- 
cheeked,  jolly  young  fellows,  who  to-night  were  in  a 
perfect  tumult  of  animal  gaiety.  Diana  twinkled  and 
dimpled  and  flung  her  sparkles  round  among  them, 
and  there  was  unbounded  jollity. 

"  Who's  that  looking  in  at  the  window  ?"  called  out 
Sam,  aged  ten,  who  sat  opposite  the  house  door.  At 
that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a  dark  stranger, 
bronzed  with  travel  and  dressed  in  foreign-looking 
garments,  entered. 

He  stood  one  moment,  all  looking  curiously  at  him, 
then  crossing  the  floor,  he  kneeled  down  by  Mrs. 
Pitkin's  chair,  and  throwing  off  his  cap,  looked  her 
close  in  the  eyes. 

"  Mother,  don't  you  know  me  ?' 


DEACON  PI  TWIN'S  FARM.  83 

She  looked  at  him  one  moment  with  that  still  earnest 
ness  peculiar  to  herself,  and  then  fell  into  his  arms. 
"O  my  son,  my  son!" 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  indescribable  con 
fusion,  during  which  Diana  retreated,  pale  and  breath 
less,  to  a  neighboring  window,  and  stood  with  her 
hand  over  the  locket  which  she  had  always  worn 
upon  her  heart. 

After  a  few  moments  he  came,  and  she  felt  him  by 
her. 

"  What,  cousin  !"  he  said  ;  "  no  welcome  from  you  ?" 
She  gave  one  look,  and  he  took  her  in  his  arms.  She 
felt  the  beating  of  his  heart,  and  he  felt  hers.  Neither 
spoke,  yet  each  felt  at  that  moment  sure  of  the 
other. 

"I  say,  boys,"  said  James,  "who'll  help  bring  in 
my  sea  chest  ?" 

Never  was  sea  chest  more  triumphantly  ushered;  it 
was  a  contest  who  should  get  near  enough  to  take 
some  part  in  its  introduction,  and  soon  it  was  open, 
and  James  began  distributing  its  contents. 

"There,  mother,"  said  he,  undoing  a  heavy  black 
India  satin  and  shaking  out  its  folds,  "  I'm  determined 
you  shall  have  a  dress  fit  for  you  ;  and  here's  a  real 
India  shawl  to  go  with  it.  Get  those  on  and  you'll 
look  as  much  like  a  queen  among  women  as  you 
ought  to." 

Then  followed  something  for  every  member  of  the 
family,  received  with  frantic  demonstrations  of  applause 
and  appreciation  by  the  more  juvenile. 

"Oh,    what's  that?"    said   Sam,    as   a   package   done 


84  DEACON  PI  TWIN'S  FARM. 

up  in  silk  paper  and  tied  with  silver  cord  was  dis 
closed. 

"  That's — oh — that's  my  wife's  wedding-dress,"  said 
James,  unfolding  and  shaking  out  a  rich  satin ;  "  and 
here's  her  shawl/'  drawing  out  an  embroidered  box, 
scented  with  sandal-wood. 

The  boys  all  looked  at  Diana,  and  Diana  laughed 
and  grew  pale  and  red  all  in  the  same  breath,  as 
James,  folding  back  the  silk  and  shawl  in  their  boxes, 
handed  them  to  her. 

Mrs.  Pitkin  laughed  and  kissed  her,  and  said,  gaily, 
"All  right,  my  daughter — just  right." 

What  an  evening  that  was,  to  be  sure !  What  a 
confusion  of  joy  and  gladness !  What  a  half-telling 
of  a  hundred  things  that  it  would  take  weeks  to  tell. 

James  had  paid  the  mortgage  and  had  money  to 
spare ;  and  how  he  got  it  all,  and  how  he  was  saved 
at  sea,  and  where  he  went,  and  what  befell  him  here 
and  there,  he  promised  to  be  telling  them  for  six 
months  to  come. 

"Well,  your  father  mustn't  be  kept  up  too  late," 
said  Mrs.  Pitkin.  "  Let's  have  prayers  now,  and  then 
to-morrow  we'll  be  fresh  to  ta4k  more." 

So  they  gathered  around  the  wide  kitchen  fire  and 
the  family  Bible  was  brought  out. 

"Father,"  said  James,  drawing  out  of  his  pocket  the 
Bible  his  mother  had  given  him  at  parting,  "let  me 
read  my  Psalm;  it  has  been  my  Psalm  ever  since  I 
left  you."  There  was  a  solemn  thrill  in  the  little 
circle  as  James  read  the  verses  : 

"  They  that   go  down   to   the  sea  in  ships,  that  do  business  in 


DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM.  85 

great  waters ;  these  see  the  works  of  the  Lord  and  his  wonders  in 
the  deep.  For  he  commandeth  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind  which 
lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof.  They  mount  up  to  the  heaven  ;  they 
go  down  again  to  the  depths  :  their  soul  is  melted  because  of  trouble. 
Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble,  and  he  bringeth  them 
out  of  their  distresses.  He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the 
waves  thereof  are  still.  Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet, 
so  he  bringeth  them  unto  their  desired  haven.  Oh  that  men  would 
praise  the  Lord  for  his  goodness,  and  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the 
children  of  men  !" 


When  all  had  left  the  old  kitchen,  James  and  Diana 
sat  by  the  yet  glowing  hearth  and  listened  to  the 
crickets,  and  talked  over  all  the  past  and  the  future. 

"And  now,"  said  James,  "it's  seven  years  since  I 
left  you,  and  to-morrow  is  the  seventh  Thanksgiving, 
and  I've  always  set  my  heart  on  getting  home  to  be 
married  Thanksgiving  evening." 

"But,  dear  me,  Jim,  we  can't.     There  isn't  time." 

"Why  not? — we've  got  all  the  time  there  is!" 

"But  the  wedding-dress  can't  be  made,  possibly." 

"  Oh,  that  can  wait  till  the  week  after.  You  are 
pretty  enough  without  it !" 

"But  what  will  they  all  say?" 

"  Who  cares  what  they  say  ?  I  don't,"  said  James. 
"The  fact  is,  I've  set  my  heart  on  it,  and  you  owe 
me  something  for  the  way  you  treated  me  the  last 
Thanksgiving  I  was  here,  seven  years  ago.  Now  don't 
you?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  do,  so  have  it  just  as  you  will."  And 
so  it  was  accomplished  the  next  evening. 

And  among  the  wonders  of  Mapleton  Miss  Briskett 
announced  it  as  chief,  that  it  was  the  first  time  she 


86  DEACON  PITKIN'S  FARM. 

ever  heard  of  a  bride  that  was  married  first  and  had 
her  wedding-dress  made  the  week  after!  She  never 
had  heard  of  such  a  thing. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  for  years  after  neither  of  the 
parties  concerned  found  themselves  a  bit  the  worse 
for  it. 


THE 

FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


THE 

FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


THE  shores  of  the  Atlantic  coast  of  America  may 
well  be  a  terror  to  navigators.  They  present  an 
inexorable  wall,  against  which  forbidding  and  angry 
waves  incessantly  dash,  and  around  which  shifting 
winds  continually  rave.  The  approaches  to  safe  har 
bors  are  few  in  number,  intricate  and  difficult,  requir 
ing  the  skill  of  practiced  pilots. 

But,  as  if  with  a  pitying  spirit  of  hospitality,  old 
Cape  Cod,  breaking  from  the 'iron  line  of  the  coast, 
like  a  generous-hearted  sailor  intent  on  helpfulness, 
stretches  an  hundred  miles  outward,  and,  curving  his 
sheltering  arms  in  a  protective  circle,  gives  a  noble 
harborage.  Of  this  harbor  of  Cape  Cod  the  report  of 
our  governmental  Coast  Survey  thus  speaks:  "It  is 
one  of  the  finest  harbors  for  ships  of  war  on  the 
whole  of  our  Atlantic  coast.  The  width  and  freedom 
from  obstruction  of  every  kind  at  its  entrance  and 
the  extent  of  sea  room  upon  the  bay  side  make  it 
accessible  to  vessels  of  the  largest  class  in  almost  all 
winds.  This  advantage,  its  capacity,  depth  of  water, 
excellent  anchorage,  and  the  complete  shelter  it  affords 


9o          FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NE  W  ENGLAND. 

from   all   winds,    render   it   one   of   the   most  valuable 
ship  harbors  upon   our  coast." 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in  our  mention  of 
this  place,  because  here,  in  this  harbor,  opened  the 
first  scene  in  the  most  wonderful  drama  of  modern 
history. 

Let  us  look  into  the  magic  mirror  of  the  past  and 
see  this  harbor  of  Cape  Cod  on  the  morning  of  the 
nth  of  November,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1620,  as 
described  to  us  in  the  simple  words  of  the  pilgrims: 
"A  pleasant  bay,  circled  round,  except  the  entrance, 
which  is  about  four  miles  over  from  land  to  land, 
compassed  about  to  the  very  sea  with  oaks,  pines,  juni 
pers,  sassafras,  and  other  sweet  weeds.  It  is  a  harbor 
wherein  a  thousand  sail  of  ship  may  safely  ride." 

Such  are  the  woody  shores  of  Cape  Cod  as  we  look 
back  upon  them  in  that  distant  November  day,  and 
the  harbor  lies  like  a  great  crystal  gem  on  the  bosom 
of  a  virgin  wilderness.  The  "fir  trees,  the  pine  trees, 
and  the  bay,"  rejoice  together  in  freedom,  for  as  yet 
the  axe  has  spared  them;  in  the  noble  bay  no  ship 
ping  has  found  shelter;  no  voice  or  sound  of  civilized 
man  has  broken  the  sweet  calm  of  the  forest.  The 
oak  leaves,  now  turned  to  crimson  and  maroon  by  the 
autumn  frosts,  reflect  themselves  in  flushes  of  color  on 
the  still  waters.  The  golden  leaves  of  the  sassafras 
yet  cling  to  the  branches,  though  their  life  has  passed, 
and  every  brushing  wind  bears  showers  of  them  down 
to  the  water.  Here  and  there  the  dark  spires  of  the 
cedar  and  the  green  leaves  and  red  berries  of  the 
holly  contrast  with  these  lighter  tints.  The  forest  fo- 


FSXS7"  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  9I 

liage  grows  down  to  the  water's  edge,  so  Lthat  the 
dash  of  the  rising  and  falling  tide  washes  into  the 
shaggy  cedar  boughs  which  here  and  there  lean  over 
and  dip  in  the  waves. 

No  voice  or  sound  from  earth  or  sky  proclaims  that 
anything  unwonted  is  coming  or  doing  on  these  shores 
to-day.  The  wandering  Indians,  moving  their  hunting- 
camps  along  the  woodland  paths,  saw  no  sign  in  the 
stars  that  morning,  and  no  different  color  in  the  sun 
rise  from  what  had  been  in  the  days  of  their  fathers. 
Panther  and  wild-cat  under  their  furry  coats  felt  no 
thrill  of  coming  dispossession,  and  saw  nothing  through 
their  great  golden  eyes  but  the  dawning  of  a  day  just 
like  all  other  days — when  "the  sun  ariseth  and  they 
gather  themselves  into  their  dens  and  lay  them  down." 
And  yet  alike  to  Indian,  panther,  and  wild-cat,  to 
every  oak  of  the  forest,  to  every  foot  of  land  in  Amer 
ica,  from  the  stormy  Atlantic  to  the  broad  Pacific, 
that  day  was  a  day  of  days. 

There  had  been  stormy  and  windy  weather,  but  now 
dawned  on  the  earth  one  of  those  still,  golden  times 
of  November,  full  of  dreamy  rest  and  tender  calm. 
The  skies  above  were  blue  and  fair,  and  the  waters 
of  the  curving  bay  were  a  downward  sky — a  magical 
under-world,  wherein  the  crimson  oaks,  and  the  dusk 
plumage  of  the  pine,  and  the  red  holly-berries,  and 
yellow  sassafras  leaves,  all  nickered  and  glinted  in 
wavering  bands  of  color  as  soft  winds  swayed  the 
glassy  floor  of  waters. 

In  a  moment,  there  is  heard  in  the  silent  bay  a 
sound  of  a  rush  and  ripple,  different  from  the  lap  of 


9 2  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

the  many-tongued  waves  on  the  shore;  and,  silently  as 
a  cloud,  with  white  wings  spread,  a  little  vessel  glides 
into  the  harbor. 

A  little  craft  is  she — not  larger  than  the  fishing- 
smacks  that  ply  their  course  along  our  coasts  in  sum 
mer;  but  her  decks  are  crowded  with  men,  women, 
and  children,  looking  out  with  joyous  curiosity  on  the 
beautiful  bay,  where,  after  many  dangers  and  storms, 
they  first  have  found  safe  shelter  and  hopeful  harbor. 

That  small,  unknown  ship  was  the  Mayflower;  those 
men  and  women  who  crowded  her  decks  were  that 
little  handful  of  God's  own  wheat  which  had  been 
flailed  by  adversity,  tossed  and  winnowed  till  every 
husk  of  earthly  selfishness  and  self-will  had  been  beaten 
away  from  them  and  left  only  pure  seed,  fit  for  the 
planting  of  a  new  world.  It  was  old  Master  Cotton 
Mather  who  said  of  them,  "  The  Lord  sifted  three 
countries  to  find  seed  wherewith  to  plant  America." 

Hark  now  to  the  hearty  cry  of  the  sailors,  as  with 
a  plash  and  a  cheer  the  anchor  goes  down,  just  in 
the  deep  water  inside  of  Long  Point;  and  then,  says 
their  journal,  "  being  now  passed  the  vast  ocean  and 
sea  of  troubles,  before  their  preparation  unto  further 
proceedings  as  to  seek  out  a  place  for  habitation,  they 
fell  down  on  their  knees  and  blessed  the  Lord,  the 
God  of  heaven,  who  had  brought  them  over  the  vast 
and  furious  ocean,  and  delivered  them  from  all  perils 
and  miseries  thereof." 

Let  us  draw  nigh  and  mingle  with  this  singular  act 
of  worship.  Elder  Brewster,  with  his  well-worn  Gen 
eva  Bible  in  hand,  leads  the  thanksgiving  in  words 


FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.          93 

which,  though  thousands  of  years  old,  seem  as  if  writ 
ten  for  the  occasion  of  that  hour : 

"  Praise  the  Lord  because  he  is  good,  for  his  mercy  endureth  for 
ever.  Let  them  which  have  been  redeemed  of  the  Lord  show  how 
he  delivereth  them  from  the  hand  of  the  oppressor.  And  gathered 
them  out  of  the  lands  :  from  the  east,  and  from  the  west,  from  the 
north,  and  from  the  south,  when  they  wandered  in  deserts  and 
wildernesses  out  of  the  way  and  found  no  city  to  dwell  in.  Both 
hungry  and  thirsty,  their  soul  failed  in  them.  Then  they  cried  unto 
the  Lord  in  their  troubles,  and  he  delivered  them  in  their  distresses. 
And  led  them  forth  by  the  right  way,  that  they  might  go  unto  a  city 
of  habitation.  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  and  occupy  by  the 
great  waters :  they  see  the  works  of  the  Lord  and  his  wonders  in  the 
deep.  For  he  commandeth  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind,  and  it 
lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof.  They  mount  up  to  heaven,  and  de 
scend  to  the  deep  :  so  that  their  soul  melteth  for  trouble.  They 
are  tossed  to  and  fro,  and  stagger  like  a  drunken  man,  and  all  their 
cunning  is  gone.  Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble, 
and  he  bringeth  them  out  of  their  distresses.  He  turneth  the  storm 
to  a  calm,  so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still.  When  they  are  quiet 
ed  they  are  glad,  and  he  bringeth  them  unto  the  haven  where  they 
would  be. " 

As  yet,  the  treasures  of  sacred  song  which  are  the 
liturgy  of  modern  Christians  had  not  arisen  in  the 
church.  There  was  no  Watts,  and  no  Wesley,  in  the 
days  of  the  Pilgrims ;  they  brought  with  them  in  each 
family,  as  the  most  precious  of  household  possessions,  a 
thick  volume  containing,  first,  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  with  the  Psalter  appointed  to  be  read  in 
churches ;  second,  the  whole  Bible  in  the  Geneva  trans 
lation,  which  was  the  basis  on  which  our  present  En 
glish  translation  was  made;  and,  third,  the  Psalms  of 
David,  in  meter,  by  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  with  the 
music  notes  of  the  tunes,  adapted  to  singing.  There 
fore  it  was  that  our  little  band  were  able  to  lift  up 


94          FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

their  voices  together  in  song  and  that  the  noble  tones 
of  Old  Hundred  for  the  first  time  floated  over  the 
silent  bay  and  mingled  with  the  sound  of  winds  and 
waters,  consecrating  our  American  shores. 

"  All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell, 

Sing  to  the  Lord  with  cheerful  voice  : 
Him  serve  with  fear,  His  praise  forthtell  ; 
Come  ye  before  Him  and  rejoice. 

"  The  Lord,  ye  know,  is  God  indeed  ; 
Without  our  aid  He  did  us  make  ; 
We  are  His  flock,  He  doth  us  feed, 
And  for  his  sheep  He  doth  us  take. 

"  O  enter  then  His  gates  with  praise, 

Approach  with  joy  His  courts  unto  : 
Praise,  laud,  and  bless  His  name  always, 
For  it  is  seemly  so  to  do. 

"  For  why  ?     The  Lord  our  God  is  good, 

His  mercy  is  forever  sure  ; 
His  truth  at  all  times  firmly  stood, 
And  shall  from  age  to  age  endure." 

This  grand  hymn  rose  and  swelled  and  vibrated  in 
the  still  November  air;  while  in  between  the  pauses 
came  the  warble  of  birds,  the  scream  of  the  jay,  the 
hoarse  call  of  hawk  and  eagle,  going  on  with  their 
forest  ways  all  unmindful  of  the  new  era  which  had 
been  ushered  in  with  those  solemn  sounds. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE     FIRST     DAY     ON     SHORE. 

sound  of  prayer  and  psalm-singing  died  away 
-L  on  the  shore,  and  the  little  band,  rising  from 
their  knees,  saluted  each  other  in  that  genial  humor 
which  always  possesses  a  ship's  company  when  they 
have  weathered  the  ocean  and  come  to  land  to 
gether. 

"Well,  Master  Jones,  here  we  are,"  said  Elder  Brew- 
ster  cheerily  to  the  ship-master. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,  here  we  be  sure  enough;  but  I've  had 
many  a  shrewd  doubt  of  this  upshot.  I  tell  you,  sirs, 
when  that  beam  amidships  sprung  and  cracked  Mas 
ter  Coppin  here  said  we  must  give  over — hands  couldn't 
bring  her  through.  Thou  rememberest,  Master  Cop- 
pin?" 

"That  I  do,"  replied  Master  Coppin,  the  first  mate, 
a  stocky,  cheery  sailor,  with  a  face  red  and  shining  as 
a  glazed  bun.  "I  said  then  that  praying  might  save 
her,  perhaps,  but  nothing  else  would." 

"Praying  wouldn't  have  saved  her,"  said  Master 
Brown,  the  carpenter,  "  if  I  had  not  put  in  that  screw 
and  worked  the  beam  to  her  place  again." 

"Aye,  aye,  Master  Carpenter,"  said  Elder  Brewster, 
"the  Lord  hath  abundance  of  the  needful  ever  to  his 


96          FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

hand.  When  He  wills  to  answer  prayer,  there  will  be 
found  both  carpenter  and  screws  in  their  season,  I 
trow." 

"Well,  Deb,"  said  Master  Coppin,  pinching  the  ear 
of  a  great  mastiff  bitch  who  sat  by  him,  "  what  sayest 
thou?  Give  us  thy  mind  on  it,  old  girl;  say,  wilt  thou 
go  deer-hunting  with  us  yonder?" 

The  dog,  who  was  full  of  the  excitement  of  all 
around,  wagged  her  tail  and  gave  three  tremendous 
barks,  whereat  a  little  spaniel  with  curly  ears,  that  stood 
by  Rose  Standish,  barked  aloud. 

"Well  done!"  said  Captain  Miles  Standish.  "Why, 
here  is  a  salute  of  ordnance  !  Old  Deb  is  in  the  spirit 
of  the  thing  and  opens  out  like  a  cannon.  The  old 
girl  is  spoiling  for  a  chase  in  those  woods." 

"  Father,  may  I  go  ashore  ?  I  want  to  see  the  coun 
try,"  said  Wrestling  Brewster,  a  bright,  sturdy  boy, 
creeping  up  to  Elder  Brewster  and  touching  his  fa 
ther's  elbow. 

Thereat  there  was  a  crying  to  the  different  mothers 
of  girls  and  boys  tired  of  being  cooped  up, — "  Oh, 
mother,  mother,  ask  that  we  may  all  go  ashore." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  old  Margery  the  serving-maid  to 
Elder  Brewster,  "  I  want  to  go  ashore  to  wash  and  be 
decent,  for  there  isn't  a  soul  of  us  hath  anything  fit 
for  Christians.  There  be  springs  of  water,  I  trow." 

"  Never  doubt  it,  my  woman,"  said  Elder  Brewster  ; 
"  but  all  things  in  their  order.  How  say  you,  Mr.  Car 
ver  ?  You  are  our  governor.  What  order  shall  we 
take?" 

"  We  must  have  up  the  shallop,"  said  Carver,  "  and 


FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.          97 

send  a  picked  company  to  see  what  entertainment  there 
may  be  for  us  on  shore." 

"And  I  counsel  that  all  go  well  armed,"  quoth  Cap 
tain  Miles  Standish,  "  for  these  men  of  the  forest  are 
sharper  than  a  thorn-hedge.  What!  what!"  he  said, 
looking  over  to  the  eager  group  of  girls  and  boys,  "  ye 
would  go  ashore,  would  ye  ?  Why,  the  lions  and  bears 
will  make  one  mouthful  of  ye." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  lions,"  said  young  Wrestling 
Brewster  in  an  aside  to  little  Love  Winslow,  a  golden- 
haired,  pale-cheeked  child,  of  a  tender  and  spiritual 
beauty  of  face.  "I'd  like  to  meet  a  lion,"  he  added, 
"and  serve  him  as  Samson  did.  I'd  get  honey  out  of 
him,  I  promise." 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  young  Master  Boastful!"  said  old 
Margery.  "  Mind  the  old  saying,  '  Brag  is  a  good  dog, 
but  holdfast  is  better.' ' 

"  Dear  husband,"  said  Rose  Standish,  "  wilt  thou  go 
ashore  in  this  company?" 

"  Why,  aye,  sweetheart,  what  else  am  I  come  for — 
and  who  should  go  if  not  I  ?" 

"  Thou  art  so  very  venturesome,  Miles." 

"  Even  so,  my  Rose  of  the  wilderness.  Why  else  am 
I  come  on  this  quest  ?  Not  being  good  enough  to  be 
in  your  church  nor  one  of  the  saints,  I  come  for  an 
arm  of  flesh  to  them,  and  so,  here  goes  on  my  armor." 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  buried  his  frank,  good-natured 
countenance  in  an  iron  headpiece,  and  Rose  hastened 
to  help  him  adjust  his  corselet. 

The  clang  of  armor,  the  bustle  and  motion  of  men 
and  children,  the  barking  of  dogs,  and  the  cheery 


9 8          FIR S T  CHRIS TMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLA ND. 

Heave-o !  of  the  sailors  marked  the  setting  off  of  the 
party  which  comprised  some  of  the  gravest,  and  wisest, 
as  well  as  the  youngest  and  most  able-bodied  of  the 
ship's  company.  The  impatient  children  ran  in  a 
group  and  clustered  on  the  side  of  the  ship  to  see 
them  go.  Old  Deb,  with  her  two  half-grown  pups, 
barked  and  yelped  after  her  master  in  the  boat,  run 
ning  up  and  down  the  vessel's  deck  with  piteous  cries 
of  impatience. 

"  Come  hither,  dear  old  Deb,"  said  little  Love  Wins- 
low,  running  up  and  throwing  her  arms  round  the 
dog's  rough  neck ;  "  thou  must  not  take  on  so ;  thy 
master  will  be  back  again ;  so  be  a  good  dog  now, 
and  lie  down." 

And  the  great  rough  mastiff  quieted  down  under 
her  caresses,  and  sitting  down  by  her  she  patted  and 
played  with  her,  with  her  little  thin  hands. 

"See  the  darling,"  said  Rose  Standish,  "what  away 
that  baby  hath!  In  all  the  roughness  and  the  terrors 
of  the  sea  she  hath  been  like  a  little  sunbeam  to  us — 
yet  she  is  so  frail!" 

"  She  hath  been  marked  in  the  womb  by  the  troubles 
her  mother  bore,"  said  old  Margery,  shaking  her  head. 
"  She  never  had  the  ways  of  other  babies,  but  hath 
ever  that  wistful  look — and  her  eyes  are  brighter  than 
they  should  be.  Mistress  Winslow  will  never  raise  that 
child — now  mark  me!" 

"Take  care!"  said  Rose,  "let  not  her  mother  hear 
you." 

"Why,  look  at  her  beside  of  Wrestling  Brewster,  or 
Faith  Carver.  They  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  she  looks 


FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.          99 

as  if  she  had  been  made  out  of  sunshine.  'Tis  a 
sweet  babe  as  ever  was;  but  fitter  for  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  than  our  rough  life-— deary  me !  a  hard  time 
we  have  had  of  it.  I  suppose  it's  all  best,  but  I  don't 
know." 

"  Oh,  never  talk  that  way,  Margery,"  said  Rose 
Standish;  "we  must  all  keep  up  heart,  our  own  and 
one  another's." 

"Ah,  well  a  day — I  suppose  so,  but  then  I  look  at 
my  good  Master  Brewster  and  remember  how,  when  I 
was  a  girl,  he  was  at  our  good  Queen  Elizabeth's 
court,  ruffling  it  with  the  best,  and  everybody  said 
that  there  wasn't  a  young  man  that  had  good  fortune 
to  equal  his.  Why,  Master  Davidson,  the  Queen's 
Secretary  of  State,  thought  all  the  world  of  him;  and 
when  he  went  to  Holland  on  the  Queen's  business,  he 
must  take  him  along;  and  when  he  took  the  keys  of 
the  cities  there,  it  was  my  master  that  he  trusted  them 
to,  who  used  to  sleep  with  them  under  'his  pillow.  I 
remember  when  he  came  home  to  the  Queen's  court, 
wearing  the  great  gold  chain  that  the  States  had 
given  him.  Ah  me !  I  little  thought  he  would  ever 
come  to  a  poor  man's  coat,  then!" 

"Well,  good  Margery,"  said  Rose,  "it  isn't  the  coat, 
but  the  heart  under  it — that's  the  thing.  Thou  hast 
more  cause  of  pride  in  thy  master's  poverty  than  in  his 
riches." 

"Maybe  so — I  don't  know,"  said  Margery,  "but  he 
hath  had  many  a  sore  trouble  in  worldly  things — 
driven  and  hunted  from  place  to  place  in  England, 


I00        FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

clapt  into  prison,  and  all  he  had  eaten  up  with  fines 
and  charges  and  costs." 

"  All  that  is  because  he  chose  rather  to  suffer  afflic 
tion  with  the  people  of  God  than  to  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  sin  for  a  season,"  said  Rose;  "he  shall  have  his 
reward  by  and  by." 

"  Well,  there  be  good  men  and  godly  in  Old  Eng 
land  that  get  to  heaven  in  better  coats  and  with  easy 
carriages  and  fine  houses  and  servants,  and  I  would 
my  master  had  been  of  such.  But  if  he  must  come  to 
the  wilderness  I  will  come  with  him.  Gracious  me! 
what  noise  is  that?"  she  exclaimed,  as  a  sudden  report 
of  firearms  from  below  struck  her  ear.  "  I  do  believe 
there  is  that  Frank  Billington  at  the  gunpowder;  that 
boy  will  never  leave,  I  do  believe,  till  he  hath  blown 
up  the  ship's  company." 

In  fact,  it  appeared  that  young  master  Frank,  impa 
tient  of  the  absence  of  his  father,  had  toled  Wrestling 
Brewster  and  two  other  of  the  boys  down  into  the 
cabin  to  show  them  his  skill  in  managing  his  father's 
fowling-piece,  had  burst  the  gun,  scattering  the  pieces 
about  the  cabin. 

Margery  soon  appeared,  dragging  the  culprit  after 
her.  "Look  here  now,  Master  Malapert,  see  what 
you'll  get  when  your  father  comes  home !  Lord  a 
mercy !  here  was  half  a  keg  of  powder  standing  open ! 
Enough  to  have  blown  us  all  up!  Here,  Master 
Clarke,  Master  Clarke,  come  and  keep  this  boy  with 
you  till  his  father  come  back,  or  we  be  all  sent  sky 
high  before  we  know." 


FIRST  CHRIS TMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.        j o x 

At  even  tide  the  boat  came  back  laden  to  the  water's 
edge  with  the  first  gettings  and  givings  from  the  new 
soil  of  America.  There  is  a  richness  and  sweetness 
gleaming  through  the  brief  records  of  these  men  in 
their  journals,  which  shows  how  the  new  land  was 
seen  through  a  fond  and  tender  medium,  half  poetic ; 
and  its  new  products  lend  a  savor  to  them  of  some 
what  foreign  and  rare. 

Of  this  day's  expedition  the  record  is  thus : 

"  That  day,  so  soon  as  we  could,  we  set  ashore  some  fifteen  or 
sixteen  men  well  armed,  with  some  to  fetch  wood,  for  we  had  none 
left  ;  as  also  to  see  what  the  land  was  and  what  inhabitants  they 
could  meet  with.  They  found  it  to  be  a  small  neck  of  land  on  this 
side  where  we  lay  in  the  bay,  and  on  the  further  side  the  sea,  the 
ground  or  earth,  sand-hills,  much  like  the  downs  in  Holland,  but 
much  better  ;  the  crust  of  the  earth  a  spit's  depth  of  excellent  black 
earth  ;  all  wooded  with  oaks,  pines,  sassafras,  juniper,  birch,  holly, 
vines,  some  ash  and  walnut ;  the  wood  for  the  most  part  open  and 
without  underwood,  fit  either  to  walk  or  to  ride  in.  At  night  our  peo 
ple  returned  and  found  not  any  people  or  inhabitants,  and  laded 
their  boat  with  juniper,  which  smelled  very  sweet  and  strong,  and 
of  which  we  burned  for  the  most  part  while  we  were  there." 

"See  there,"  said  little  Love  Winslow,  "what  fine 
red  berries  Captain  Miles  Standish  hath  brought." 

"  Yea,  my  little  maid,  there  is  a  brave  lot  of  holly 
berries  for  thee  to  dress  the  cabin  withal.  We  shall 
not  want  for  Christmas  greens  here,  though  the  houses 
and  churches  are  yet  to  come." 

"Yea,  Brother  Miles,"  said  Elder  Brewster,  "the 
trees  of  the  Lord  are  full  of  sap  in  this  land,  even  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon,  which  he  hath  planted.  It  hath 
the  look  to  me  of  a  land  which  the  Lord  our  God 
hath  blessed." 

"  There   is    a   most   excellent   depth   of   black,   rich 


! 0 2        MRS T  CHRIS TMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLA ND. 

earth,"  said  Carver,  "and  a  great  tangle  of  grape 
vines,  whereon  the  leaves  in  many  places  yet  hung, 
and  we  picked  up  stores  of  walnuts  under  a  tree — 
not  so  big  as  our  English  ones — but  sweet  and  well- 
flavored." 

"  Know  ye,  brethren,  what  in  this  land  smelleth 
sweetest  to  me  ?"  said  Elder  Brewster.  "  It  is  the 
smell  of  liberty.  The  soil  is  free — no  man  hath  claim 
thereon.  In  Old  England  a  poor  man  may  starve' 
right  on  his  mother's  bosom;  there  may  be  stores  of 
fish  in  the  river,  and  bird  and  fowl  flying,  and  deer 
running  by,  and-  yet  though  a  man's  children  be  cry 
ing  for  bread,  an'  he  catch  a  fish  or  snare  a  bird, 
he  shall  be  snatched  up  and  hanged.  This  is  a  sore 
evil  in  Old  England;  but  we  will  make  a  country 
here  for  the  poor  to  dwell  in,  where  the  wild  fruits 
and  fish  and  fowl  shall  be  the  inheritance  of  whosoever 
will  have  them  ;  and  every  man  shall  have  his  portion 
of  our  good  mother  earth,  with  no  lords  and  no 
bishops  to  harry  and  distrain,  and  worry  with  taxes 
and  tythes." 

"Amen,  brother!"  said  Miles  Standish,  "and  thereto 
I  give  my  best  endeavors  with  sword  and  buckler." 


CHAPTER    III. 

CHRISTMAS    TIDE    IN    PLYMOUTH    HARBOR. 

FOR  the  rest  of  that  month  of  November  the 
Mayflower  lay  at  anchor  in  Cape  Cod  harbor, 
and  formed  a  floating  home  for  the  women  and  chil 
dren,  while  the  men  were  out  exploring  the  country, 
with  a  careful  and  steady  shrewdness  and  good  sense, 
to  determine  where  should  be  the  site  of  the  future 
colony.  The  record  of  their  adventures  is  given  in 
their  journals  with  that  sweet  homeliness  of  phrase 
which  hangs  about  the  Old  English  of  that  period 
like  the  smell  of  rosemary  in  an  ancient  cabinet. 

We  are  told  of  a  sort  of  picnic  day,  when  "our 
women  went  on  shore  to  wash  and  all  to  refresh 
themselves ;"  and  fancy  the  times  there  must  have 
been  among  the  little  company,  while  the  mothers  sorted 
and  washed  and  dried  the  linen,  and  the  children, 
under  the  keeping  of  the  old  mastiffs  and  with  many 
cautions  against  the  wolves  and  wild  cubs,  once  more 
had  liberty  to  play  in  the  green  wood.  For  it  appears 
in  these  journals  how,  in  one  case,  the  little  spaniel 
of  John  Goodman  was  chased  by  two  wolves,  and  was 
fain  to  take  refuge  between  his  master's  legs  for 
shelter.  Goodman  "had  nothing  in  hand,"  says  the 
journal,  "but  took  up  a  stick  and  threw  at  one  of 


I04        FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

them  and  hit  him,  and  they  presently  ran  away,  but 
came  again.  He  got  a  pale-board  in  his  hand,  but 
they  both  sat  on  their  tails  a  good  while,  grinning  at 
him,  and  then  went  their  way  and  left  him." 

Such  little  touches  show  what  the  care  of  families 
must  have  been  in  the  woodland  picnics,  and  why  the 
ship  was,  on  the  whole,  the  safest  refuge  for  the  women 

and  children. 

• 

We  are  told,  moreover,  how  the  party  who  had  struck 
off  into  the  wilderness,  "  having  marched  through 
boughs  and  bushes  and  under  hills  and  valleys  which 
tore  our  very  armor  in  pieces,  yet  could  meet  with  no 
inhabitants 'nor  find  any  fresh  water  which  we  greatly 
stood  in  need  of,  for  we  brought  neither  beer  nor 
water  with  us,  and  our  victual  was  only  biscuit  and 
Holland  cheese,  and  a  little  bottle  of  aqua  vitae.  So 
we  were  sore  athirst.  About  ten  o'clock  we  came  into 
a  deep  valley  full  of  brush,  sweet  gaile  and  long  grass, 
through  which  we  found  little  paths  or  tracks ;  and  we 
saw  there  a  deer  and  found  springs  of  water,  of  which 
we  were  heartily  glad,  and  sat  us  down  and  drunk  our 
first  New  England  water  with  as  much  delight  as  we 
ever  drunk  drink  in  all  our  lives." 

Three  such  expeditions  through  the  country,  with  all 
sorts  of  haps  and  mishaps  and  adventures,  took  up 
the  time  until  near  the  i5th  of  December,  when,  hav 
ing  selected  a  spot  for  their  colon/,  they  weighed 
anchor  to  go  to  their  future  home. 

Plymouth  Harbor,  as  they  found  it,  is  thus  described : 

"  This  harbor  is  a  bay  greater  than  Cape  Cod,  compassed  with  a 
goodly  land,  and  in  the  bay  two  fine  islands  uninhabited,  wherein 


FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


105 


are  nothing  but  woods,  oaks,  pines,  walnuts,  beeches,  sassafras, 
vines,  and  other  trees  which  we  know  not.  The  bay  is  a  most 
hopeful  place,  innumerable  stores  of  fowl,  and  excellent  good  ;  and 
it  cannot  but  be  of  fish  in  their  season.  Skate,  cod,  and  turbot,  and 
herring  we  have  tasted  of — abundance  of  mussels  (clams)  the  best 
we  ever  saw  ;  and  crabs  and  lobsters  in  their  time,  infinite. 

On  the  main  land  they  write  : 

"  The  land  is,  for  a  spit's  depth,  excellent  black  mould  and  fat  in 
some  places.  Two  or  three  great  oaks,  pines,  walnut,  beech,  ash, 
birch,  hazel,  holly,  and  sassafras  in  abundance,  and  vines  every 
where,  with  cherry-trees,  plum-trees,  and  others  which  we  know  not. 
Many  kind  of  herbs  we  found  here  in  winter,  as  strawberry  leaves 
innumerable,  sorrel,  yarrow,  carvel,  brook-lime,  liver-wort,  water- 
cresses,  with  great  store  of  leeks  and  onions,  and  an  excellent  strong 
kind  of  flax  and  hemp." 

It  is  evident  from  this  description  that  the  season 
was  a  mild  one  even  thus  late  into  December,  that 
there  was  still  sufficient  foliage  hanging  upon  the  trees 
to  determine  the  species,  and  that  the  pilgrims  viewed 
their  new  mother-land  through  eyes  of  cheerful  hope. 

And  now  let  us  look  in  the  glass  at  them  once  more, 
on  Saturday  morning  of  the  23d  of  December. 

The  little  Mayflower  lies  swinging  at  her  moorings 
in  the  harbor,  while  every  man  and  boy  who  could  use 
a  tool  has  gone  on  shore  to  cut  down  and  prepare 
timber  for  future  houses. 

Mary  Winslow  and  Rose  Standish  are  sitting  together 
on  deck,  fashioning  garments,  while  little  Love  Wins- 
low  is  playing  at  their  feet  with  such  toys  as  the  new 
world  afforded  her — strings  of  acorns  and  scarlet  holly- 
berries  and  some  bird-claws  and  arrowheads  and  bright- 
colored  ears  of  Indian  corn,  which  Captain  Miles 
Standish  has  brought  home  to  her  from  one  of  their 
explorations. 


I06        FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

Through  the  still  autumnal  air  may  now  and  then  be 
heard  the  voices  of  men  calling  to  one  another  on 
shore,  the  quick,  sharp  ring  of  axes,  and  anon  the  crash 
of  falling  trees,  with  shouts  from  juveniles  as  the  great 
forest  monarch  is  kid  low.  Some  of  the  women  are 
busy  below,  sorting  over  and  arranging  their  little 
household  stores  and  stuff  with  a  view  to  moving  on 
shore,  and  holding  domestic  consultations  with  each 
other. 

A  sadness  hangs  over  the  little  company,  for  since 
their  arrival  the  stroke  of  death  has  more  than  once 
fallen ;  we  find  in  Bradford's  brief  record  that  by  the 
24th  of  December  six  had  died. 

What  came  nearest  to  the  hearts  of  all  was  the  loss 
of  Dorothea  Bradford,  who,  when  all  the  men  of  the 
party  were  absent  on  an  exploring  tour,  accidentally  fell 
over  the  side  of  the  vessel  and  sunk  in  the  deep  waters. 
What  this  loss  was  to  the  husband  and  the  little  com 
pany  of  brothers  and  sisters  appears  by  no  note  or 
word  of  wailing,  merely  by  a  simple  entry  which  says 
no  more  than  the  record  on  a  gravestone,  that,  "on 
the  yth  of  December,  Dorothy,  wife  of  William  Brad 
ford,  fell  over  and  was  drowned." 

That  much-enduring  company  could  afford  them 
selves  few  tears.  Earthly  having  and  enjoying  was  a 
thing  long  since  dismissed  from  their  calculations. 
They  were  living  on  the  primitive  Christian  platform  ; 
they  "  rejoiced  as  though  they  rejoiced  not,"  and  they 
"wept  as  though  they  wept  not,"  and  they  "had  wives 
and  children  as  though  they  had  them  not,"  or,  as  one 
of  themselves  expressed  it,  "  We  are  in  all  places 


FIRST  CHRISTMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.        i o 7 

strangers,  pilgrims,  travelers  and  sojourners  ;  our  dwell 
ing  is  but  a  wandering,  our  abiding  but  as  a  fleeting, 
our  home  is  nowhere  but  in  the  heavens,  in  that  house 
'not  made  with  hands,  whose  builder  and  maker  is 
God." 

When  one  of  their  number  fell  they  were  forced  to 
do  as  soldiers  in  the  stress  of  battle — close  up  the  ranks 
and  press  on. 

But  Mary  Winslow,  as  she  sat  over  her  sewing,  drop 
ped  now  and  then  a  tear  down  on  her  work  for  the 
loss  of  her  sister  and  counselor  and  long-tried  friend. 
From  the  lower  part  of  the  ship  floated  up,  at  intervals, 
snatches  of  an  old  English  ditty  that  Margery  was 
singing  while  she  moved  to  and  fro  about  her  work, 
one  of  those  genuine  English  melodies,  full  of  a  rich, 
strange  mournfulness  blent  with  a  soothing  pathos  : 

"  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun 

Nor  the  furious  winter  rages, 
Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone  and  ta'en  thy  wages.'' 

The  air  was  familiar,  and  Mary  Winslow,  dropping 
her  work  in  her  lap,  involuntarily  joined  in  it: 

"  Fear  no  more  the  frown  of  the  great, 

Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke  ; 
Care  no  more  to  clothe  and  eat, 
To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak." 

"There  goes  a  great  tree  on  shore!"  quoth  little 
Love  Winslow,  clapping  her  hands.  "  Dost  hear,  moth 
er?  I've  been  counting  the  strokes — fifteen — and  then 
crackle!  crackle!  crackle!  and  down  it  conjes!" 


I08       FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

"Peace,  darling,"  said  Mary  Winslow;  "hear  what  old 
Margery  is  singing  below: 

"  Fear  no  more  the  lightning's  flash, 
Nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder  stone  ; 

Fear  not  slander,  censure  rash — 
Thou  hast  finished  joy  and  moan. 

All  lovers  young — all  lovers  must 
Consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust." 

"  Why  do  you  cry,  mother  ?"  said  the  little  one, 
climbing  on  her  lap  and  wiping  her  tears. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  dear  Auntie,  who  is  gone  from 
us." 

"  She  is  not  gone  from  us,  mother." 

"  My  darling,  she  is  with  Jesus." 

"  Well,  mother,  Jesus  is  ever  with  us — you  tell  me 
that — and  if  she  is  with  him  she  is  with  us  too — I 
know  she  is — for  sometimes  I  see  her.  She  sat  by  me 
last  night  and  stroked  my  head  when  that  ugly  stormy 
wind  waked  me — she  looked  so  sweet,  oh,  ever  so  beau 
tiful  ! — and  she  made  me  go  to  sleep  so  quiet — it  is 
sweet  to  be  as  she  is,  mother — not  away  from  us  but 
with  Jesus." 

"  These  little  ones  see  further  in  the  kingdom  than 
we,"  said  Rose  Standish.  "  If  we  would  be  like  them, 
we  should  take  things  easier.  When  the  Lord  would 
show  who  was  greatest  in  his  kingdom,  he  took  a  little 
child  on  his  lap." 

"Ah  me,  Rose!"  said  Mary  Winslow,  "  I  am  aweary 
in  spirit  with  this  tossing  sea-life.  I  long  to  have  a 
home  on  dry  land  once  more,  be  it  ever  so  poor.  The 
sea  wearies  me.  Only  think,  it  is  almost  Christmas 


FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.        IO9 

time,  only  two  days  now  to  Christmas.  How  shall  we 
keep  it  in  these  woods?" 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  old  Margery,  coming  up  at  the  mo 
ment,  "a  brave  muster  and  to  do  is  there  now  in  old 
England;  and  men  and  boys  going  forth  singing  and 
bearing  home  branches  -of  holly,  and  pine,  and  mistle 
toe  for  Christmas  greens.  Oh  J  I  remember  I  used  to 
go  forth  with  them  and  help-dress  the  churches.  God 
help  the  poor  children,  they  will  grow  up  in  the  wilder 
ness  and  never  see  such  brave  sights  as  I  have.  They 
will  never  know  what  a  church  is,  such  as  they  are  in 
old  England,  with  fine  old  windows  like  the  clouds, 
and  rainbows,  and  great  wonderful  arches  like  the  very 
skies  above  us,  and  the  brave  music  with  the  old 
organs  rolling  and  the  boys  marching  in  white  gar 
ments  and  singing  so  as  should  draw  the  very  heart 
out  of  one.  All  this  we  have  left  behind  in  old  En 
gland — ah!  well  a  day!  well  a  day!" 

"  Oh,  but,  Margery,"  said  Mary  Winslow,  "  we  have 
a  '  better  country  '  than  old  England,  where  the  saints 
and  angels  are  keeping  Christmas  ;  we  confess  that  we 
are  strangers  and  pilgrims  on  earth." 

And  Rose  Standish  immediately  added  the  familiar 
quotation  from  the  Geneva  Bible : 

"  For  they  that  say  such  things  declare  plainly  that  they  seek  a 
country.  For  if  they  had  been  mindful  of  that  country  from  whence 
they  came  out  they  had  leisure  to  have  returned.  But  nowlhey 
desire  a  better — that  is,  an  heavenly  ;  wherefore  God  is  not  ashamed 
of  them  to  be  called  their  God." 

The  fair  young  face  glowed  as  she  repeated  the 
heroic  words,  for  already,  though  she  knew  it  not, 


no       FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

Rose  Standish  was  feeling  the  approaching  sphere  of 
the  angel  life.  Strong  in  spirit,  as  delicate  in  frame, 
she  had  given  herself  and  drawn  her  martial  husband 
to  the  support  of  a  great  and  noble  cause;  but  while 
the  spirit  was  ready,  the  flesh  was  weak,  and  even  at 
that  moment  her  name  was  written  in  the  Lamb's 
Book  to  enter  the  higher  life  in  one  short  month's 
time  from  that  Christmas. 

Only  one  month  of  sweetness  and  perfume  was  Jhat 
sweet  rose  to  shed  over  the^hard  and  troubled  life  of 
the  pilgrims,  for  the  saints  and  angels  loved  her,  and 
were  from  day  to  day  gently  untying  mortal  bands  to 
draw  her  to  themselves.  Yet  was  there  nothing  about 
her  of  mournfulness ;  on  the  contrary,  she  was  ever 
alert  and  bright,  with  a  ready  tongue  to  cheer  and  a 
helpful  hand  to  do ;  and,  seeing  the  sadness  that  seemed 
stealing  over  Mary  Winslow,  she  struck  another  key, 
and,  catching  little  Love  up  in  her  arms,  said  cheerily, 

"  Come  hither,  pretty  one,  and  Rose  will  sing  thee  a 
brave  carol  for  Christmas.  We  won't  be  down-hearted, 
will  we  ?  Hark  now  to  what  the  minstrels  used  to  sing 
under  my  window  when  I  was  a  little  girl : 

"  I  saw  three  ships  come  sailing  in 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day, 
I  saw  three  ships  come  sailing  in 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning. 

"  And  what  was  in  those  ships  all  three 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day, 
And  what  was  in'  those  ships  all  three 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning  ? 

"  Our  Saviour  Christ  and  his  laydie, 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day, 


FIRST  CHRISTMA  S  OF  NE  W  ENGLAND.        j  1 1 

Our  Saviour  Christ  and  his  laydie 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning. 

"  Pray,  whither  sailed  those  ships  all  three, 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day? 
Oh,  they  sailed  into  Bethlehem, 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning. 

"  And  all  the  bells  on  earth  shall  ring 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day  ; 
And  all  the  angels  in  heaven  shall  sing 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning. 

"  Then  let  us  all  reJPice  amain, 
On  Christmas  day,  on  Christmas  day  ; 
Then  let  us  all  rejoice  amain 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning." 

"Now,  isn't  that  a  brave  ballad?"  said  Rose. 
"Yea,  and  thou  singest  like   a    real    English  robin," 
said  Margery,  "  to  do  the  heart  good  to  hear  thee." 


CHAPTER     IV. 

ELDER  BREWSTER'S  CHRISTMAS  SERMON. 

SUNDAY  morning  four^.  the  little  company  gath 
ered  once  more  on  the  ship,  with  nothing  to  do 
but  rest  and  remember  their  homes,  temporal  and 
spiritual — homes  backward,  in  old  England,  and  for 
ward,  in  Heaven.  They  were,  every  man  and  woman 
of  them,  English  to  the  back-bone.  From  Captain 
Jones  who  commanded  the  ship  to  Elder  Brewster 
who  ruled  and  guided  in  spiritual  affairs,  all  alike 
were  of  that  stock  and  breeding  which  made  the 
Englishman  of  the  days  of  Bacon  and  Shakespeare, 
and  in  those  days  Christmas  was  knit  into  the  heart  of 
every  one  of  them  by  a  thousand  threads,  which  no 
after  years  could  untie. 

Christmas  carols  had  been  sung  to  them  by  nurses 
and  mothers  and  grandmothers;  the  Christmas  holly 
spoke  to  them  from  every  berry  and  prickly  leaf,  full 
of  dearest  household  memories.  Some  of  them  had 
been  men  of  substance  among  the  English  gentry, 
and  in  their  prosperous  days  had  held  high  festival  in 
ancestral  halls  in  the  season  of  good  cheer.  Elder 
Brewster  himself  had  been  a  rising  young  diplomat  in 
the  court  of  Elizabeth,  in  the  days  when  the  Lord 


FIRST  CHRISTMAS  OF  NE  W  ENGLAND.        z  13 

Keeper  of  the  Seals  led  the  revels  of  Christmas  as 
Lord  of  Misrule. 

So  that,  though  this  Sunday  morning  arose  gray  and 
lowering,  with  snow-flakes  hovering  through  the  air, 
there  was  Christmas  in  the  thoughts  of  every  man 
and  woman  among  them — albeit  it  was  the  Christmas 
of  wanderers  and  exiles  in  a  wilderness  looking  back 
to  bright  home-fires  across  stormy  waters. 

The  men  had  come  back  from  their  work  on  shore 
with  branches  of  green  pine  and  holly,  and  the  women 
had  stuck  them  about  the  ship,  not  without  tearful 
thoughts  of  old  home-places,  where  their  childhood 
fathers  and  mothers  did  the  same. 

Bits  and  snatches  of  Christmas  carols  were  floating 
all  around  the  ship,  like  land-birds  blown  far  out  to 
sea.  In  the  forecastle  Master  Coppin  was  singing : 

"  Come,  bring  with  a  noise, 
My  merry  boys, 

The  Christmas  log  to  the  firing  ; 
While  my  good  dame,  she 
Bids  ye  all  be  free, 

And  drink  to  your  hearts'  desiring. 
Drink  now  the  strong  beer, 
Cut  the  white  loaf  here. 

The  while  the  meat  is  shredding 
For  the  rare  minced  pie, 
And  the  plums  stand  by 

To  fill  the  piste  that's  a-kneading." 

"Ah,  well-a-day,  Master  Jones,  it  is  dull  cheer  to 
sing  Christmas  songs  here  in  the  woods,  with  only  the 
owls  and  the  bears  for  choristers.  I  wish  I  could 
hear  the  bells  of  merry  England  once  more." 

And  down  in  the  cabin  Rose   Standish  was  hushing 


1 1 4        FIRST  CHRISTMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

little  Peregrine,  the  first   American-born   baby,  with   a 
Christmas  lullaby : 

"  This  winter's  night 
I  saw  a  sight —  . 

A  star  as  bright  as  day  ; 
And  ever  among 
A  maiden  sung, 

Lullay,  by -by,  lullay  ! 

"  This  lovely  laydie  sat  and  sung, 

And  to  her  child  she  said, 
My  son,  my  brother,  and  my  father  dear, 

Why  lyest  thou  thus  in  hayd  ? 
My  sweet  bird, 
Tho'  it  betide 

Thou  be  not  king  veray  ; 
But  nevertheless 
I  will  not  cease 

To  sing,  by-by,  lullay  ! 

"  The  child  then  spake  in  his  talking, 

And  to  his  mother  he  said, 
It  happeneth,  mother,  I  am  a  king, 

In  crib  though  I  be  laid, 
For  angels  bright 
Did  down  alight, 

Thou  knowest  it  is  no  nay  ; 
And  of  that  sight 
Thou  may'st  be  light 

To  sing,  by-by,  lullay  ! 

"  Now,  sweet  son,  since  thou  art  a  king, 

Why  art  thou  laid  in  stall  ? 
Why  not  ordain  thy  bedding 

In  some  great  king  his  hall  ? 
We  thinketh  'tis  right 
That  king  or  knight 

Should  be  in  good  array  ; 
And  them  among, 
It  were  no  wrong 

To  sing,  by-by,  lullay  ! 


FIRST  CHR1STMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.        r x 5 

"  Mary,  mother,  I  am  thy  child, 

Tho'  I  be  laid  in  stall ; 
Lords  and  dukes  shall  worship  me, 

And  so  shall  kinges  all. 
And  ye  shall  see 
That  kinges  three 

Shall  come  on  the  twelfth  day  ; 
For  this  behest 
Give  me  thy  breast, 

And  sing,  by-by,  lullay  !" 

"See  here,"  quoth  Miles  Standish,  "when  my  Rose 
singeth,  the  children  gather  round  her  like  bees  round 
a  flower.  Come,  let  us  all  strike  up  a  goodly  carol 
together.  Sing  one,  sing  all,  girls  and  boys,  and  get  a 
bit  of  Old  England's  Christmas  before  to-morrow, 
when  we  must  to  our  work  on  shore." 

Thereat  Rose  struck  up  a  familiar  ballad-meter  of  n 
catching  rhythm,  and  every  voice  of  young  and  old 
was  soon  joining  in  it: 

"  Behold  a  silly,*  tender  Babe, 

In  freezing  winter  night, 
In  homely  manger  trembling  lies  ; 

Alas  !  a  piteous  sight, 
The  inns  are  full,  no  man  will  yield 

This  little  Pilgrim  bed  ; 
But  forced  He  is,  with  silly  beasts 

In  crib  to  shroud  His  head. 
Despise  Him  not  for  lying  there, 

First  what  He  is  inquire  : 
An  orient  pearl  is  often  found 

In  depth  of  dirty  mire. 

Weigh  not  His  crib,  His  wooden  dish, 

Nor  beasts  that  by  Him  feed  ; 
Weigh  not  His  mother's  poor  attire, 

Nor  Joseph's  simple  Weed. 

*  Old  English — simple. 


1 1 6        FIXST  CHRIS  TMA  S  OF  NE  W  ENGLA  ND. 

This  stable  is  a  Prince's  court, 

The  crib  His  chair  of  state, 
The  beasts  are  parcel  of  His  pomp, 

The  wooden  dish  His  plate. 
The  persons  in  that  poor  attire 

His  royal  liveries  wear  ; 
The  Prince  Himself  is  come  from  Heaven, 

This  pomp  is  prized  there. 
With  joy  approach,  O  Christian  wight, 

Do  homage  to  thy  King  ; 
Ancfhighly  praise  His  humble  pomp, 

Which  He  from  Heaven  doth  bring." 

The  cheerful  sounds  spread  themselves  through  the 
ship  like  the  flavor  of  some  rare  perfume,  bringing 
softness  of  heart  through  a  thousand  tender  memories. 

Anon,  the  hour  of  Sabbath  morning  worship  drew 
on,  and  Elder  Brewster  read  from  the  New  Testament 
the  whole  story  of  the  Nativity,  and  then  gave  a  sort 
of  Christmas  homily  from  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  in  the 
eighth  chapter  of  Romans,  the  sixth  and  seventh 
verses,  which  the  Geneva  version  thus  renders : 

"For  the  wisdom  of  the  flesh  is  death,  but  the  wisdom  of  the 
spirit  is  life  and  peace. 

"  For  the  wisdom  of  the  flesh  is  enmity  against  God,  for  it  is  not 
subject  to  the  law  of  God,  neither  indeed  can  be." 

"  Ye  know  full  well,  dear  brethren,  what  the  wisdom 
of  the  flesh  sayeth.  The  wisdom  of  the  flesh  sayeth 
to  each  one,  '  Take  care  of  thyself;  look  after  thyself, 
to  get  and  to  have  and  to  hold  and  to  enjoy.'  The 
wisdom  of  the  flesh  sayeth,  '  So  thou  art  warm,  full,  and 
in  good  liking,  take  thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry,  and  care  not  how  many  go  empty  and  be 
lacking.'  But  ye  have  seen  in  the  Gospel  this  morn- 


FIRS T  CHRIS TMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.        T T 7 

ing  that  this  was  not  the  wisdom  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  who,  though  he  was  Lord  of  all,  became  poorer 
than  any,  that  we,  through  His  poverty,  might  become 
rich.  When  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  came,  the  wisdom 
of  the  flesh  despised  Him;  the  wisdom  of  the  flesh 
had  no  room  for  Him  at  the  inn. 

"  There  was  room  enough  always  for  Herod  and  his 
concubines,  for  the  wisdom  of  the  flesh  set  great  store 
by  them ;  but  a  poor  man  and  woman  were  thrust  out 
to  a  stable;  and  there  was  a  poor  baby  born  whom 
the  wisdom  of  the  flesh  knew  not,  because  the  wisdom 
of  the  flesh  is  enmity  against  God. 

"  The  wisdom  of  the  flesh,  brethren,  ever  despiseth 
the  wisdom  of  God,  because  it  knoweth  it  not.  The 
wisdom  of  the  flesh  looketh  at  the  thing  that  is  great 
and  strong  and  high ;  it  looketh  at  riches,  at  kings' 
courts,  at  fine  clothes  and  fine  jewels  and  fine  feast- 
ings,  and  it  despiseth  the  little  and  the  poor  and  the 
weak. 

"But  the  wisdom  of  the  Spirit  goeth  to  worship 
the  poor  babe  in  the  manger,  and  layeth  gold  and 
myrrh  and  frankincense  at  his  feet  while  he  lieth  in 
weakness  and  poverty,  as  did  the  wise  men  who  were 
taught  of  God. 

"  Now,  forasmuch  as  our  Saviour  Christ  left  His 
riches  and  throne  in  glory  and  came  in  weakness  and 
poverty  to  this  world,  that  he  might  work  out  a 
mighty  salvation  that  shall  be  to  all  people,  how  can 
we  better  keep  Christmas  than  to  follow  in  his  steps? 
We  be  a  little  company  who  have  forsaken  houses 
and  lands  and  possessions,  and  come  here  unto  the 


!  T  8        FIRST  CHRISTMA  S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

wilderness  that  we  may  prepare  a  resting-place  whereto 
others  shall  come  to  reap  what  we  shall  sow.  And 
to-morrow  we  shall  keep  our  first  Christmas,  not  in 
flesh-pleasing  and  in  reveling  and  in  fullness  of  bread, 
but  in  small  beginning  and  great  weakness,  as  our 
Lord  Christ  kept  it  when  He  was  born  in  a  stable 
and  lay  in  a  manger. 

"  To-morrow,  God  willing,  we  will  all  go  forth  to 
do  good,  honest  Christian  work,  and  begin  the  first 
house-building  in  this  our  New  England — it  may  be 
roughly  fashioned,  but  as  good  a  house,  I'll  warrant 
me,  as  our  Lord  Christ  had  on  the  Christmas  Day  we 
wot  of.  And  let  us  not  faint  in  heart  because  the 
wisdom  of  the  world  despiseth  what  we  do.  Though 
Sanballat  the  Horonite,  and  Tobias  the  Ammonite, 
and  Geshem  the  Arabian  make  scorn  of  us,  and  say, 
'  What  do  these  weak  Jews  ?  If  a  fox  go  up,  he  shall 
break  down  their  stone  wall;'  yet  the  Lord  our  God 
is  with  us,  and  He  can  cause  our  work  to  prosper. 

"  The  wisdom  of  the  Spirit  seeth  the  grain  of  mus 
tard-seed,  that  is  the  least  of  alt  seeds,  how  it  shall 
become  a  great  tree,  and  the  fowls  of  heaven  shall 
lodge  in  its  branches.  Let  us,  then,  lift  up  the  hands 
that  hang  down  and  the  feeble  knees,  and  let  us  hope 
that,  like  as. great  salvation  to  all  people  came  out  of 
small  beginnings  of  Bethlehem,  so  the  work  which  we 
shall  begin  to-morrow  shall  be  for  the  good  of  many 
nations. 

"It  is  a  custom  on  this  Christmas  Day  to  give 
love-presents.  What  love-gift  giveth  our  Lord  Jesus 
on  this  day  ?  Brethren,  it  is  a  great  one  and  a 


FIRST  CHRIS TM A S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.        1 1 9 

precious;  as  St.  Paul  said  to  the  Philippians :  'For 
unto  you  it  is  given  for  Christ,  not  only  that  ye  should 
believe  on  Him,  but  also  that  ye  should  suffer  for 
His  sake;'  and  St.  Peter  also  saith,  *  Behold,  we  count 
them  blessed  which  endure.'  And  the  holy  Apostles 
rejoiced  that  they  were  counted  worthy  to  suffer 
rebuke  for  the  name  of  Jesus. 

"Our  Lord  Christ  giveth  us  of  His  cup  and  His 
baptism;  He  giveth  of  the  manger  and  the  straw;  He 
giveth  of  persecutions  and  afflictions;  He  giveth  of 
the  crown  of  thorns,  and  right  dear  unto  us  be  these 
gifts. 

"And  now  will  I  tell  these  children  a  story,  which 
a  cunning  playwright,  whom  I  once  knew  in  our 
Queen's  court,  hath  made  concerning  gifts: 

"A  great  king  would  marry  his  daughter  worthily, 
and  so  he  caused  three  caskets  to  be  made,  in  one  of 
which  he  hid  her  picture.  The  one  casket  was  of. 
gold  set  with  diamonds,  the  second  of  silver  set  with 
pearls,  and  the  third  a  poor  casket  of  lead. 

"  Now  it  was  given  out  that  each  comer  should  have 
but  one  choice,  and  if  he  chose  the  one  with  the 
picture  he  should  have  the  lady  to  wife. 

"Divers  kings,  knights,  and  gentlemen  came  from 
far,  but  they  never  won,  because  they  always  snatched 
at  the  gold  and  the  silver  caskets,  with  the  pearls  and 
diamonds.  So,  when  they  opened  these,  they  found 
only  a  grinning  death's-head  or  a  fool's  cap. 

"But  anon  cometh  a  true,  brave  knight  and  gentle 
man,  who  chooseth  for  love  alone  the  old  leaden  cas- 


1 20        FIRST  CHRISTMA S  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

ket ;  and,  behold,  within  is  the  picture  of  her  he 
loveth  !  and  they  were  married  with  great  feasting  and 
content. 

"  So  our  Lord  Jesus  doth  not  offer  himself  to  us  in 
silver  and  gold  and  jewels,  but  in  poverty  and  hard 
ness  and  want;  but  whoso  chooseth  them  for  His  love's 
sake  shall  find  Him  therein  whom  his  soul  loveth,  and 
shall  enter  with  joy  to  the  marriage  supper  of  the 
Lamb. 

"  And  when  the  Lord  shall  come  again  in  his  glory, 
then  he  shall  bring  worthy  gifts  with  him,  for  he  saith : 
'  Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will  give  thee  a 
crown  of  life  ;  to  him  that  overcometh  I  will  give  to 
eat  of  the  hidden  manna,  and  I  will  give  him  a  white 
stone  with  a  new  name  that  no  man  knoweth  save  he 
that  receiveth  it.  He  that  overcometh  and  keepeth  my 
words,  I  will  give  power  over  the  nations  and  I  will 
give  him  the  morning  star.' 

"Let  us  then  take  joyfully  Christ's  Christmas  gifts 
of  labors  and  adversities  and  crosses  to-day,  that  when 
he  shall  appear  we  may  have  these  great  and  wonder 
ful  gifts  at  his  coming;  for  if  we  suffer  with  him  we 
shall  also  reign  ;  but  if  we  deny  him,  he  also  will  deny 


us. 


And  so  it  happens  that  the  only  record  of  Christmas 
Day  in  the  pilgrims'  journal  is  this: 

"  Monday,  the  25lh,  being  Christmas  Day,  we  went  ashore,  some 
to  fell  timber,  some  to  saw,  some  to  rive,  and  some  to  carry  ;  and  so 
no  man  rested  all  that  day.  But  towards  night  some,  as  they  were 
at  work,  heard  a  noise  of  Indians,  which  caused  us  all  to  go  to  our 
muskets  ;  but  we  heard  no  further,  so  we  came  aboard  again,  leav 
ing  some  to  keep  guard.  That  night  we  had  a  sore  storm  of  wind 


FIRS  T  CHRIS  TMA  S  OF  NE  W  ENGLA ND.        x  2 1 

and  rain.     But  at  night  the  ship-master  caused  us  to  have  some  beer 
aboard." 

So  worthily  kept  they  the  first  Christmas,  from  which 
comes  all  the  Christmas  cheer  of  New  England  to-day. 
There  is  no  record  how  Mary  Winslow  and  Rose  Stand- 
ish  and  others,  with  women  and  children,  came  ashore 
and  walked  about  encouraging  the  builders;  and  how 
little  Love  gathered  stores  of  bright  checker-berries 
and  partridge  plums,  and  was  made  merry  in  seeing 
squirrels  and  wild  rabbits  ;  nor  how  old  Margery 
roasted  certain  wild  geese  to  a  turn  at  a  woodland 
fire,  and  conserved  wild  cranberries  with  honey  for 
sauce.  In  their  journals  the  good  pilgrims  say  they 
found  bushels  of  strawberries  in  the  meadows  in  De 
cember.  But  we,  knowing  the  nature  of  things,  know 
that  these  must  have  been  cranberries,  which  grow  still 
abundantly  around  Plymouth  harbor. 

And  at  the  very  time  that  all  this  was  doing  in  the 
wilderness,  and  the  men  were  working  yeomanly  to 
build  a  new  nation,  in  King  James's  court  the  am 
bassadors  of  the  French  King  were  being  entertained 
with  maskings  and  mummerings,  wherein  the  staple 
subject  of  merriment  was  the  Puritans! 

So  goes  the  wisdom  of  the  world  and  its  ways — and 
so  goes  the  wisdom  of  God! 


[THE  END.] 


AN  'INITIAL  PINE  OF  25  CENTS 

S™ 


WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CEN?SLTHE  PENALTV 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THP  "  ™E  F°URTH 
OVERDUE.  HE  SEVENTH  DAY 


M130913 


bet 


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